The Legend of Grovel the Great
by Bondari the Reloader
Summary: The epic journey of a lowly goblin from dungeon fodder to savior of the entire known world. Yes! No? Maybe. We are talking about a goblin, after all...
1. Ch 1: The Legend is Born, Reluctantly

_Disclaimer: All Neverwinter Nights characters and settings are the property of Bioware and Atari. This story is not written for profit, merely for fun._

**Prologue**

An evil queen stood staring angrily into the darkness. Her servants were testing her patience, even though she had repeatedly warned them not to do so. She flicked her whip in frustration.

"Hurry up, iblith! I wish to see this being who my agents say can stop my great rise, and I wish to see it now!"

"We are very nearly ready, dread mistress!" squeaked the frightened wizard before her. He bent down and scribbled some more runes on the ground, tracing and retracing to make sure there were no mistakes. He remembered all too well what happened to the last head sorcerer…

"Proceed, wizard. Now!" screamed the queen. Patience was not a virtue she possessed. Of course, since she was an evil drow matron bent on world domination, she was not in possession of many virtues at all.

The ritual began. Flashing lights and eerie sounds filled the room. A dozen drow bowed up and down, up and down. Finally, a figure appeared in the center of the vile pentagram. A figure of a…

No. Something was wrong. It had to be. The queen did not say a word, but she could not stop her body from shaking in fury. The wizard met her fierce gaze and immediately fireballed himself to death, reasoning that it would be preferable to whatever torture she had planned. Unfortunately, his spell also hit the two priestesses on either side of him; needless to say, they were not pleased.

The queen huffed petulantly as the drow's body was carted away. She had been looking forward to roasting that one over some hot coals. She turned to one of the red-clad women standing next to her. "Fetch me the next worthless male," she droned.

This was not the first time the drow had performed this ritual. In fact, the male population had taken a serious hit the likes of which had not been seen since a matron some seven hundred years ago sacrificed all the men in her house to Lolth as a birthday present to the spider goddess, which went drastically wrong as the priestess in charge mixed up her lines of celestial communication and sacrificed the men in Helm's honor instead, thereby infuriating both of the divine. Like that matron before her, this Valsharess was running out of men. Each of her previous choices had tried and failed.

Or perhaps they did not fail. Each wizard achieved the same result; it was just not a result the Valsharess could accept. The ritual was designed to call forth the image of the one who would be her undoing, and each time an image did appear.

The image of a goblin.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Legend is Born, Reluctantly**

Grovel was running away.

He wasn't sure how long the skeleton had been chasing him, exactly, but he could feel himself getting tired. He was sure that he would have run into a fairy or an ogre by now, something to distract the impending doom behind him. He ran and ran until he ran through a gate he had never seen before. Once he passed through, he was so shocked he actually stopped running.

Grovel had escaped from Undermountain.

He nearly jumped for joy, but the moaning of the undead a few steps behind him spurred him onward, right into the path of two mismatched travelers.

On his left was a kobold carrying a crossbow in one hand and a book in the other. On his right was a rather unremarkable looking gnomish woman with a very large wooden club. Both were looking at him as if they had never seen a goblin before, which judging from their expensive-looking equipment Grovel very much doubted.

"Help, help, help!" he screamed as he ran between them. The gnome watched him go with an impassive face before turning to join her kobold companion in battle. The skeleton was quickly reduced to bone dust, and the gnome turned back to gaze at the goblin. Grovel found her blank stare unnerving. He had to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Grovel's never seen you before!" he shouted.

"No, you have not," replied the woman evenly.

The kobold's quill scratched across the page, writing down every word of the riveting dialogue playing out before him.

"Grovel would remember if he'd seen you, yes? No? Maybe?"

"Maybe. It is not for me to say."

"No, no, no, Grovel supposes not…" In spite of the woman's refusal to ask him questions, she seemed interested in him. Grovel decided he should introduce himself, at least. "I'm Grovel… nobody important." He waited for her reply.

The woman blinked at him. After a moment, she slightly inclined her head. "I am Tree Branch, also unimportant."

Grovel tilted his head. "Really? Grovel thinks you look really important, yes, yes, yes."

The gnome spread her small arms as wide as she could. "Who is really important in the grand scheme of the Balance?" she intoned. "Each must play his part as best he can. There is no part of greater importance than another. There is only a successful life and an unsuccessful life." She brought her hands together and closed her eyes in meditation. She did not reopen them.

Grovel looked at the kobold, who shrugged his diminutive shoulders. "Boss does that a lot," he whispered. "She be great druid lady. Likes to talk about Balancing."

"Balancing what?" asked Grovel. "Balancing on one foot? Balancing golden goblets? Balancing over a pit of fiery death?"

"Balancing the harmony of the entire world," said Tree Branch, opening her eyes with a long exhale. "To that end, we seek the mage Halaster, he who is unbalanced. Do you know this man, goblin?"

"Halaster? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Crazy in the head he is, yes, yes, yes."

"Excellent," said Tree Branch, though you wouldn't have been able to tell she was pleased by her tone of voice nor the expression on her face. "You will lead us to him, Grovel."

"Ha, ha, ha!" Grovel laughed nervously. "That's not going to happen, no, no, no. Halaster is gone, yes, yes, yes. Kidnapped he was, maybe? Or he went on vacation, maybe? Grovel not know, no, no, no."

"You will lead us to him, Grovel," repeated the druid, completely unfazed. "Or you will go up the well and find a group of scared and hostile humans waiting anxiously to kill the next unfamiliar creature they see. It is up to you to decide which choice is most appealing to you."

Grovel gulped and looked at the well as though it would eat him. "Grovel not go to the scary surface, no, no, no. But Grovel not wants to go back to Undermountain, Grovel wants to be free, to run, run, run away!"

The druid simply stared at him. "That is not one of your options."

Grovel's eyes darted around him, looking for some crevice he could hide in until the strange gnome and her pet kobold were gone. Finding none, he stared at his feet, which he noticed were filthy. He would have to take a bath soon; he hated not being clean. Finally he said, "Grovel guesses he goes with druid then, yes…"

The kobold crossed his arms. "Why Boss take goblin for? Boss not needs his help… Boss gots Deekin!"

Tree Branch placed her hand on the kobold's shoulder and actually smiled. Grovel decided her face looked better without expressions. "I will always have need of you, Deekin, but we both have need of Grovel right now. He will be our guide in this strange new wilderness." She turned back to the goblin. "We are counting on you now, Grovel. Lead on!"

Grovel promptly fainted.

* * *

Tree Branch looked around her at the thrones lining the chamber she, Deekin, and Grovel had stumbled into. In each sat a "sleeping king", or so said the sign promising death to any who would disturb them. So much history in this musty room.

Tree Branch knew very little of her own history, but what little she knew she had to repeat over and over to curious strangers. After all, gnome druids weren't exactly common in the Realms.

She had, apparently, been abandoned as a baby in the branches of an ancient tree, where she was found by the local druid grove. They cared for her for a few days while they tried to find her parents, but eventually they decided to raise her as their own, naming her after the place where they found her. This particular druid grove wasn't exactly known for its creativity.

"Boss!" said Deekin urgently, pulling at her cloak. "You is balancing again. Stupid Goblin getting in trouble with sleeping king!"

Tree Branch strode briskly to the opposite side of the room, where Grovel appeared to be engaged in a heated argument with an inanimate skeleton. Upon closer inspection, she realized he was arguing with the skeleton's glowing red sword. She shivered. "This is all very unnatural. I will have nothing to do with it," she proclaimed.

Deekin glared at the gnome in frustration. Far be it from him to question his boss, but her habit of standing back and watching encounters unfold instead of attempting to intervene usually wound up getting them into lots of trouble. It was also very difficult to write an epic best-seller about a hero who refused to… well, be heroic. He felt the same way about her habit of talking with rats. Yes, they usually provided invaluable information about unfamiliar areas, and this latest rat had even pointed them in the direction of a hidden treasure room, but there was just something decidedly undignified about conversing with rodents. Tree Branch was right to call his first book a work of fiction. With the dull way she went about adventuring he had had to take a few liberties. The kobold sighed and quickly began muttering some defensive spells in preparation for the battle he was fairly certain would come.

Grovel was wringing his hands and talking even faster than usual. "Grovel not need longsword, no, no, no. Grovel shouldn't even be here, Grovel should be running, running! Not talking to demon sword, no, no, no…"

"Oh, will you be quiet, you infuriating little creature!" screamed the sword. "You there, gnomish one, will you take me from this wretched place?"

Tree Branch was as silent as her namesake.

The sword let out a shriek of annoyance. "Fine! Goblin, it's back to you. You say you have no use for a longsword, eh? Let me change my shape! How about a dagger? Or a short sword? A greatsword! Any of those! ANY!"

Grovel looked up at the sword. It was awfully shiny. Grovel wondered how it had managed to stay so clean in this dusty old room. He decided he might like to own a sword that could keep itself clean. "Hmmm… Grovel thinks he wants a short sword, yes? No? Maybe?"

"Well, which one is it?! Yes? No? Maybe? MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"

Grovel curled up into a little ball of fear. "A short sword, a short sword, Grovel takes the short sword!"

"Excellent!" cried the sword in a tone usually reserved for the most evil of villains. The sword shrunk before his eyes into a tiny glowing short sword. "Come, Sir Goblin! Claim your prize."

Grovel hesitated and looked around him. Deekin stood tensely with his crossbow aimed at the skeleton's head. Tree Branch's eyes were closed, the perfect picture of peace and serenity. Grovel turned back around. "Grovel can't wait to be free of them, yes, yes, yes," he muttered. Taking as deep a breath as his emaciated lungs would allow, he reached out his hand and took the short sword from the skeleton's loose grip. He beamed with pride until he noticed the deep glow coming from the skeleton's eye sockets.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Grovel screamed, and he ran for the nearest door.

As the goblin banged his fists uselessly against the locked portal, Tree Branch opened her eyes to see a dozen vicious undead rising from their seats. She really needed to stop meditating in unsecure locations. "Are we to have a battle then?" she asked Deekin as she raised her club.

Deekin fired his crossbow and sighed. "It be looking that way, Boss!" he said, and he began to sing.

"DOOM-DOOM-DOOM DOOOOOM! DOOM-DOOM-DOOM DOOOOOM!"

Grovel curled up in a corner, put both hands over his ears, and silently prayed for death.

* * *

Nathyrra kicked a rock impatiently with her foot. She had been waiting for hours for someone—anyone—to emerge from the upper level. She hoped her patience would soon be rewarded.

Although she was an assassin by trade, she no longer specialized in that kind of work. In fact, she would be aiding her targets, not trying to kill them. If only they would show up…

She wasn't even entirely sure who she was looking for. The Seer's prophecy had spoken of "the one who wields the sword that speaks", whatever that meant. However, the Seer had it on good authority that the sword in question had recently been removed from its resting place and that its new owner would be venturing deeper into Undermountain in search of the mad mage Halaster. Nathyrra had been sent to intercept them, offer what help she could, and recruit them to the rebel cause. She pulled her cloak tightly around her. Shadows were useful for hiding in, but they were damn cold.

Finally, a stroke of luck! Three small figures appeared at the top of the rock formation in front of her. She grew as still as the stone around her, silently listening to the words of those who approached her.

"Boss, Stupid Goblin is touchings Deekin! Make him stop touchings Deekin!"

"Grovel not touch kobold, no, no, no. Grovel's sword touch kobold, though, yes? Maybe? Heh, heh, heh…"

"Has it ever occurred to your tiny little goblin brain that I do not want to touch the kobold?!"

"Please be silent, all of you. I am trying to acclimate to our new surroundings, and your constant chatter is making it difficult to hear the patterns in the stone."

"Stop. Touchings. Deekin!"

"What did kobold say? Grovel couldn't hear, heh, heh, heh…"

"I swear, you dimwitted humanoid, if you stick me near that kobold's buttocks one more time…!"

"Silence!"

Nathyrra listened closely, but no one said a word until the last speaker spoke again.

"There. Now I will hang onto this for a while, at least until I have properly communed with the earth. No one is to speak until I have given him permission to do so. Have I made myself clear?"

Judging from the lack of response, Nathyrra supposed the speaker had.

There was no noise for a long time, to the point where even the silent assassin was growing uncomfortable. Finally, the last voice spoke again.

"We are not alone. There is another here, watching us from the shadows."

The speaker stepped into the light, and Nathyrra gasped at the sight. Not because the gnome was particularly imposing or beautiful or extraordinary in any way. Far from it. What caused Nathyrra's reaction was the sword in the woman's hand. A sword that glowed with a dull red light. The sword that speaks.

She stepped out from the shadows. "Hold your weapons. I mean you no harm."

"That remains to be seen," the gnome replied.

After a slightly awkward silence, Nathyrra cleared her throat. "My name is Nathyrra. I am a representative of a group of drow, not like the ones who have invaded Undermountain and attack the surface. We are different. We are rebels."

A kobold stepped out from behind the gnome and looked at her warily. "Deekin not know much about drow, Boss, but they be bad news," he said slowly.

Nathyrra held out her arms in what she hoped was a gesture of peace. "Admittedly, normally we drow are, as you say, 'bad news'. But I assure you, my rebel friends and I are different, and we want to help you. We want to help you free Halaster so you can stop the forces of the Valsharess from attacking Waterdeep."

The gnome regarded her with a penetrating stare. "I will accept your help gladly, Nathyrra, but you should know that my interest in this place begin and ends with Halaster. I care not for your Valsharess or your rebel cause. If that is unacceptable to you, then we shall depart from you in peace." She turned behind her. "Come, Grovel!" she called to the darkness.

Nathyrra couldn't believe her pointy ears. This woman was supposed to be the savoir promised by Eilistraee? Something must be wrong. "I do not understand," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "Are you not 'the one who wields the sword that speaks', the one who is foretold by the Dark Lady to save my people?"

The gnome cocked her head in confusion, and then she laughed. It was not a particularly pleasant sound. "This sword is not mine," she said, holding up the glowing blade. "It belongs to Grovel."

Nathyrra watched with growing horror as the gnome turned and handed the sword to the skittish goblin behind her.

"Grovel, say hello to Nathyrra the drow. Her goddess has decreed that you are going to save her people's lives. Is that not fascinating?"

The goblin met Nathyrra's eyes for a moment; then, uttering a strangled scream, he fainted.

The gnome sighed. "He does that a lot, I am afraid," she said by way of apology. "Still, he will adjust to his new role soon enough, if it will serve the Balance." She gently scooped up the prone goblin in her arms. "I am Tree Branch, and the kobold here is Deekin. If you promise to help us with Halaster, I promise I will help this young creature in his purpose."

"Agreed," Nathyrra said faintly. She stealthily unsheathed her dagger and stabbed herself gently in the thigh, but alas, she was not dreaming. She watched the strange druid march off with her incapacitated savoir and shook her head. She was startled out of her gloomy thoughts by the sound of a throat clearing somewhere around her kneecaps.

"Umm… Deekin be wonderings how drow lady spells her name," said the kobold, who was now holding a book and quill in his hands.

"Oh," Nathyrra said, surprised. "Umm, N-a-t-h-y-r-r-a. Nathyrra."

The kobold attempted to write it down, but somehow managed to turn the "y" into an "e" and left out an "r". When Nathyrra shook her head, he crossed it out. "Deekin just goings to call you Drow Lady. Much easier," he said happily and marched off after his master.

"Eilistraee, grant me strength… and patience," Nathyrra muttered as she followed the motley crew into the darkness.


	2. Ch 2: The Legend Hides a Secret, Poorly

Chapter 2: The Legend Hides a Secret, Poorly

"They _are_ awfully short, aren't they?"

The Seer of Eilistraee looked down at the three adventurers standing before her. The gnome seemed competent enough, and the kobold had an undeniable zest for heroism, but as for the goblin…

She approached said goblin cautiously, not wanting to frighten the obviously skittish creature. Skittishness was not a quality the Seer particularly wanted in her savior, but she assumed her goddess had a reason for sending this most unusual of specimens. At least, she fervently hoped so.

"Hello, Grovel," she said soothingly. "I am the Seer." Grovel was staring at the ground, shaking like a leaf. "Please, Grovel, do not be afraid. You are among friends here."

A snort came from the back of the temple. Nathyrra elbowed the snorter in the side, but he didn't feel the poke through his green plate mail. His ice blue eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. "With all due respect, Seer, you know I don't believe in your visions. I have never questioned your convictions before now, but in this instance I feel I have no choice." He took a deep breath. "Do you honestly believe that the one who will save us from the Valsharess is this… goblin?" He nearly choked on this last word.

The Seer hesitated before she responded. She quickly glanced at Grovel, who was fiercely shaking his head "no". She closed her eyes and silently offered a brief prayer to Eilistraee before turning to face the questioning tiefling. "I have faith in my goddess. I only ask you to have faith in me, Valen. Can you do that?"

Valen looked down like a scolded child and muttered, "Yes." Nathyrra elbowed him again, and thinking he needed to repeat himself, shouted, "YES!"

The tiefling's booming voice echoed off the temple walls. Deekin dropped his quill in surprise. Grovel fell to the floor and covered his head with his skinny arms, moaning something unintelligible. Tree Branch opened her eyes for the briefest of moments (they had, of course, been closed in meditation) and satisfied there was no immediate danger closed them once again. The Seer eyed Valen narrowly. "We heard you the first time, Valen."

Valen tried to explain that he was responding to Nathyrra's prodding, but the Seer had returned her attention to the moaning goblin. The tiefling turned to fix Nathyrra with one of his fiercest glares, but Nathyrra, being the cunning drow she was, had already hidden back in the shadows. Valen spun around looking for her, garnering snickers from Deekin, who quickly found himself the recipient of the warrior's angry eyes instead.

While this silent drama unfolded behind her, the Seer knelt beside Grovel and gently uncurled him from his protective ball. "Now, Grovel," she began seriously, "I have explained our predicament to you. You know we need allies, and you know we need to crush the alliances of the Valsharess. Which course of action do you plan to take first?"

Grovel continued to moan a little longer, and then he looked the Seer straight in her endless silver eyes and said, "The temple floor is very dirty, very very dirty, yes. Grovel can clean it for you, yes, yes, yes. Much better plan than yours, yes, very much better. Grovel not kill the Valsharess, no, no—OWW OWW OWW OWW OWW! NO MORE POKING, STOP THE POKING, NO, NO, NO!"

Grovel began bouncing from foot to foot, screeching at the top of his weak little lungs. Deekin rolled his eyes and tugged on Tree Branch's cloak. "Umm… Boss?" The druid opened her eyes and took in the scene before her. "Boss should explain to drow about Stupid Goblin's deal with Crazy Mage, maybe."

Tree Branch sighed in agreement and walked over to the goblin, seizing his tiny shoulders to stop his jumping. "Grovel, repeat after me: 'I will kill the Valsharess.'"

"But Grovel not want to kill the Valsharess, no—OWW, POKEY POKEY, STOP! Okay, fine! Grovel will kill the Valsharess!" Grovel froze, waiting for the pain to return; when it did not, he collapsed into Tree Branch's arms.

Tree Branch dropped the goblin unceremoniously to the ground, turned to face the Seer, and said, "Grovel is under the power of a geas. He must kill the Valsharess, or Halaster the Mad will kill him. He is…" she glanced at the prone creature on the floor, "less than enthusiastic about this arrangement. That is why I am here, to ensure he survives long enough to keep his end of the bargain and restore the balance of power to the Underdark. You have my word that we shall either succeed in our quest or perish in the attempt."

Normally such a statement would be said in such a way as to express the speaker's confidence in the former result, but not so with Tree Branch. She seemed indifferent to the prospect of perishing, rather _too _indifferent, the Seer thought. "We are grateful for your assistance in this matter, surfacer," she said. "I think it best, however, if Nathyrra and Valen join you as well. To provide extra assistance."

Tree Branch shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. Grovel?" She nudged him, not exactly gently, with her foot. The goblin did not move. "I do not think he will object," said the druid. She looked at their new companions. "We will depart as soon as our leader is sufficiently recovered."

"'Our leader,'" repeated Nathyrra with a smirk. "How do you feel about taking orders from a goblin, hmm Valen?"

Valen scowled. "I feel sick to my stomach."

"Ooo, really? Deekin feels that way, too. Did Goatman eats some of that nasty bread over there? Deekin does, and Deekin thinks that not be such a good idea, maybe. This one time, Old Master eats some bad pie—Deekin's old master be scary white dragon, by the ways—and Old Master, he says…"

Valen stared at the kobold, and then he handed his massive flail to Nathyrra. "You'd better hold on to this for a while," he told her through gritted teeth. "All of us will be safer if it is in your hands."

* * *

Tree Branch was unhappy. She hadn't seen the sky in days, and she could barely remember what a cool breeze felt like. She didn't dislike being underground, per say—earth is an important part of nature, after all—but she liked to balance her time beneath the surface with time above it.

And this place wasn't even what being underground was supposed to feel like. She frowned at the tall, intricately designed buildings around her. After spending so much time in Halaster's meticulously crafted dungeons, she longed to be surrounded by natural rock. No, Lith My'athar was far too polished.

"Tell me, Nathyrra," she asked the drow woman beside her, "is all of the Underdark so… urban?"

Nathyrra laughed. "Far from it, I'm afraid. Once you leave the city gates you will find the Underdark at its bleakest, most barren, and most unforgiving."

Tree Branch smiled her slightly off-putting smile. "That sounds wonderful. I hope we can go there soon."

Nathyrra and Valen exchanged raised eyebrows over the gnome's head, but they were soon distracted by the sound of high-pitched shrieking.

"AHHHHHHH!" screamed Grovel and Deekin. They streaked past the others in a tiny humanoid blur; tight on their heels was a herd of stampeding rothe. Bringing up the rear was a very angry herdsman, shouting a continuous stream of curses in drow. Valen and Nathyrra jumped into the fray to try to control the creatures. Tree Branch merely sighed and closed her eyes, retreating from the chaos that threatened to overwhelm her. The rothe, perhaps sensing her innate connection to nature or perhaps disgusted by the smell of gnomes, gave the meditating druid a wide berth. Deekin noticed this and dove for his boss's ankles, wailing his Doom Song at the top of his lungs.

Grovel was not as observant as his kobold cohort and found himself running straight at one of the temple walls. He turned around and desperately pulled out Enserric. "You ugly cows stay away from Grovel, yes, yes, yes!" he shrieked, brandishing the tiny blade with all the authority he could muster.

The rothe seemed mesmerized by the sight of the glowing sword, but Enserric himself was less enthralled by his adversaries. "I refuse to be taken into battle against these subterranean cattle! This is beneath me! Put me away at once, you useless goblin!" Fortunately for the vain blade, the herdsman was able to corral the now-docile rothe, and Grovel shoved the whining sword back into his belt.

Once all the rothe had been subdued, the herdsman marched up to Tree Branch and hissed, "You need to keep a tighter leash on your pets, gnome."

Tree Branch opened her eyes, surprised to see the drow standing before you. "And you are…?" she asked in confusion.

"I am the drow who owns the rothe your stupid servants let loose!"

"Ah, I see," replied Tree Branch, her interest in the man now gone. "I feel I should inform you that you are mistaken about many things. First, I have neither servants nor pets. Deekin and Grovel are creatures of their own free will, and it is not my place to dictate their actions, however foolish or dangerous they might be. Second, the rothe you speak of also have wills of their own, and they do not like to be kept in that pen of yours. They find it highly unnatural, and I find that I agree with them. If you are looking for an apology from me, you will not be receiving one." She closed her eyes again, signaling that the conversation was over.

The drow herdsman waved his arms in frustration for a few moments in a remarkable imitation of a bird attempting its first flight before finally spitting at Tree Branch's feet. Since Deekin was still curled tightly around said feet, he found himself with an eyeful of drow saliva. "Yuck!" he said as he tried to rub it away. "Nasty Drow Man needs to be learning some manners, Deekin thinking."

"I will not be spoken to in such a tone, especially not by a kobold!" screamed the herdsman, and he kicked poor Deekin in the head. Grovel snickered at this, carefully hiding his face with his hands, but stopped the instant Tree Branch's eyes snapped open. The druid intoned a few quick words and kneeled with her palms flat on the ground. Grovel heard a low rumbling and instinctively jumped into a nearby barrel. Unfortunately for the herdsman, he did not possess Grovel's keen survival skills and screamed in shock as the ground beneath his feet opened up to swallow him whole.

Tree Branch stood and brushed off her hands. She noticed Valen and Nathyrra staring at her and said simply, "He was disrupting the balance of this place." She breathed deeply and nodded in satisfaction. "This city is much more harmonious without his presence."

Valen's eyes narrowed. "You don't make many friends, do you?"

"No," Tree Branch agreed. "That is by design." Valen seemed on the verge of saying something more, but Tree Branch turned around. "Where is our fearless leader, I wonder?" she asked the air.

Valen looked at Nathyrra. "Is she being sarcastic?" he asked uncertainly.

"I honestly can't tell," Nathyrra answered, just as uncertainly. The two watched as the enigmatic druid pulled Grovel kicking and screaming out of his safety barrel and set him on the ground. The goblin proceeded to wander off in the direction of the river, away from the now aimlessly grazing rothe. Nathyrra glanced back at them as she and the others followed the goblin, wondering what the Seer would think of their savior's first step toward saving them all.

* * *

Grovel kicked at a rock, sending it scurrying down the path. The winged elf sitting on the ground nearby looked up briefly before returning to his examination of the burned book Deekin and Nathyrra had brought him. They had given it to him in exchange for a broken mirror shard, and the shard now resided in Grovel's anxious hands.

The forlorn goblin looked around him, wondering when the others would return. He had chosen to visit the islands first because it kept him farther away from those scary rothe-cows. That stupid kobold had wanted to get closer so he could sketch them for his stupid book and ended up setting them loose in the process, and Grovel had no desire to see them again any time soon. Their trip across the river had been mostly uneventful, though Nathyrra and Valen had had to stop Tree Branch from jumping in the water a few times. Grovel generally liked his druid protector, but she was undoubtedly odd about rocks and rivers and such. A very strange woman, indeed.

Once arriving on the island, they had visited a creepy old palace populated with drow-spider things that Grovel felt certain Halaster would have loved to bring to Undermountain, and there they had learned that they needed to find five pieces of a broken magic mirror. The group had decided to split up, hoping that would help them find more of the shards before a rival drow dressed in red (Grovel couldn't remember her name, but he was sure it was something ominous sounding.). Valen and Nathyrra had been reluctant to leave the others to their own devices, and given Deekin's habit of calling Valen "Goatman" the tiefling had quickly claimed Tree Branch for his partner. They had headed west, Nathyrra and Deekin had headed east, and Grovel had been left in the middle to guard any shards the others brought back. The number of shards had been stuck at one for quite some time, and Grovel was starting to worry. He kicked at another rock, but unfortunately he misjudged the size of this stone and stubbed his toe. The elf merchant dispassionately watched the screaming goblin hop around for a while before returning to examining his illegible book.

The pain in Grovel's toe finally subsided, and the goblin sat down to rest from the exhausting physical effort involved in hopping. He pulled Enserric out of the tiny sheath he had managed to fashion for it, and the sword immediately yelled, "Why do you yell so much, you irritating creature?! Yelling is bad for adventurers, it attracts unwanted enemies and other—"

"Shut up, sword," muttered Grovel. "Grovel just wants to watch you glow. Grovel finds glowing comforting, yes, yes, yes."

Enserric was taken aback, though there was no way for Grovel to see that. "I am not a candle for your amusement!" he sputtered. "I am a weapon of great power, and I demand to be treated as such!"

Grovel rolled his eyes and shoved the sword back in its sheath over much protesting. He picked up the shard again, and noticing it had some soot on it from being in a burning library, he frantically began cleaning it with a rag he kept especially for this purpose, all the while watching closely for any sign of his companions. Grovel scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and still his friends did not appear. He found himself yawning in spite of himself. "Grovel not fall asleep, no, no, no. The others will be angry with Grovel if they find him sleeping, yes, yes, yes, especially the one with the horns, oh, yes. Grovel must stay awake!"

Desperate to find something to stimulate his brain, which was surprisingly harder than it sounds, Grovel put the now shining mirror shard aside and pulled out something that he hadn't shown any of the others. It was something he had found in Undermountain, long before he had met Tree Branch and Deekin, and he had kept it with him ever since. It looked like a rock, but it was lighter than any normal rock of its size. It also glowed with a faint red light, which was why Grovel was convinced it was magical. Grovel had not been able to determine if the rock had any powers besides glowing, but he found himself extremely reluctant to part with it. In fact, he was quite confident that he would rather die than let someone take this rock from him, and Grovel was not a goblin who threw his life around lightly. He stared at the softly glowing light and felt himself begin to relax. He blinked a few times, and all his worries seemed to melt away…

* * *

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Grovel as he opened his eyes to see a drow woman bending over him. It took a few moments for him to realize that said drow was the nice Nathyrra, not the evil scary lady he had seen in his dreams. Unfortunately, it took him a few moments longer to make this realization than was healthy, and he promptly passed out.

"Grovel?" Nathyrra asked, concern clearly written on her face.

Deekin poked the goblin's foot. "Stupid Goblin forgets to breathe whiles he screams, Deekin thinking. He shoulds be fine soon, Drow Lady," the kobold said reassuringly.

Nathyrra stroked the poor goblin's head for a moment, and then she noticed something grasped tightly in his tiny hand. She tried to pry the item loose, but as soon as she tugged at it, Grovel snapped straight up. "No, no, no!" he shrieked at Nathyrra. "This is Grovel's rock! No one's but Grovel's, no, no, no!"

"Okay, okay, Grovel, it's yours, I won't take it," Nathyrra said quickly. "Now, are you feeling alright? Are you hurt in any way?"

"Grovel not hurt, kind lady, no, no, no. Grovel just had bad dream is all, yes—STOP POKING GROVEL'S FOOT, NASTY KOBOLD!" Deekin responded by sticking his tongue out at him in a most immature manner. Nathyrra took a deep breath, summoning all the patience she possessed to deal with these two, but she was mercifully spared from facing this great challenge alone.

"Look!" cried Deekin, pointing in the distance. "Boss be back!"

Tree Branch had indeed returned, a very grumpy Valen following close behind. "Good, everyone is here," said the druid briskly. "The tiefling and I found two mirror shards. How many did you two find?"

"We found two as well, but the avariel queen told us she gave the last shard to Sabal," Nathyrra replied.

Tree Branch seemed undisturbed by this news, but she so rarely appeared disturbed by anything that it was truly difficult to say how she felt about it. "I did not expect our task to be quite so easy," she said simply.

"Easy!" cried Valen. "Please, my lady, explain to me what about this adventure has been easy! We spend an eternity running around a mad wizard's tower, with you continuing to cast spells even though they were _clearly_ _not working properly_, and then I get cursed by a fanatical priest of Talona and am forced to fight a ridiculous assortment of pathetic creatures to prove my worth to his worthless goddess! How is that easy?!"

The gnome was not moved by this outburst. "In response to your first complaint, I was of course not going to stop casting spells. I am a druid; I cast spells as part of my combat style. And I would not expect you to notice, but some of them _did_ work properly. Temporarily turning you into a squirrel was a small price to pay for mortally wounding that deluded apprentice." (The thought of Valen as a squirrel prompted a brief "heh, heh, heh," from Grovel which was quickly silenced by one of the tiefling's patented icy glares.) "In response to your second complaint, you were under no obligation to participate in the priest's trial. Since you clearly had no respect for his goddess, you could have just killed him and taken the antidote from his dead body. That is what I would have done if I were you."

"Then why didn't you?" Valen asked in exasperation. "You could have saved me a lot of pain!"

Tree Branch looked at him in confusion. "It was not my place to do so. You had made your choice, and the battle was yours to face alone. I was not about to get involved in something that did not concern me."

Valen stared at the woman in disbelief. "Gets used to it, Goatman," Deekin offered helpfully. "Boss never involves herself in things unless you asks her nicely."

Tree Branch gave the kobold the tiniest of smiles. "That is not entirely true, Deekin. I have also been known to respond to direct orders and violent threats, from time to time." She returned her gaze to Valen and crossed her arms. "Regardless, this argument is pointless. We have all the mirror shards we are capable of finding, so we should return to the palace as quickly as possible."

She began to walk off in that direction, but Nathyrra called her back. "Wait, Tree Branch, I think something is wrong with Grovel."

Tree Branch walked back to the goblin and peered at him closely. "He appears to be perfectly healthy to me," she assessed. "Well, as healthy as he ever is. We must accept that he will never be in prime physical condition, I am afraid."

"No, that's not what I mean. He woke up screaming and said he was having a terrible nightmare. He actually passed out."

"That is hardly a novel occurrence, Nathyrra," said Tree Branch, attempting a wry smile, which failed miserably. "He usually resumes consciousness after a few minutes have passed."

"But that's not what happened," Nathyrra said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "He was out cold, but as soon as I tried to take something out of his hand, he woke up instantly alert. He wouldn't let me see or touch whatever he was holding, saying it was his rock, only his."

The stoic druid actually raised an eyebrow at this news (only one, of course; two raised eyebrows were reserved for only the most earth-shattering information). She kneeled next to Grovel and asked him, "Are you feeling alright after your nightmare?"

"Yes, yes, yes, Grovel is in tip-top shape, tippy-tippy-top," the goblin muttered, even faster than normal. "Grovel is fine, just fine."

Tree Branch's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to tell me about this rock of yours, Grovel?"

"No, no, no! That is Grovel's rock, not yours, not yours!"

Tree Branch continued to watch him closely as he attempted to shove the rock into his belt without being noticed. When enough time had passed for him to feel confident that he had succeeded, the gnome said, "Very well, Grovel. Since this is not a problem, I expect never to hear about it again, yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Grovel nodded manically.

Tree Branch stared at the goblin a moment longer, and then stood up. "I am satisfied the goblin is fit to travel. Let us be off."

"Yay, yay, adventure time!" Grovel cried with a show of forced happiness. He raced ahead of Tree Branch and skipped down the trail toward the avariel palace. Nathyrra followed closely, not convinced by Grovel's act. Valen frowned as the others walked away. "I do not trust that goblin," he said under his breath.

"Deekin not trusts him either, Goatman!" Deekin exclaimed. "Havings suspicions about Stupid Goblin, being frustrated by Boss's unheroicness… More things uniting the two brave adventurers! Deekin can't waits to finds out what else he and Goatman has in common!" He flashed the tiefling a toothy grin. Valen stared blankly back; his voice was tightly controlled as he yelled, "Nathyrra! I need you to take my flail again…"


	3. Ch 3:The Legend Makes a Friend, Possibly

Chapter 3: The Legend Makes a Friend, Possibly.

Valen was very angry. He was doing his best not to show it, but, well, his best really wasn't very good. His arms were crossed, his hands were constantly clenching and unclenching into fists, his eyes were narrowed into the thinnest of slits, and he was growling under his breath, apparently unconsciously. No, it was obvious to all that the tiefling was very, very angry. Or it would have been if anyone was paying attention to him.

Grovel was passed out on the floor of the dungeon, a position he had occupied since witnessing Valen lop off the golem leader Ferron's head with his mighty flail. Deekin was faithfully recording the details of the glorious battle; while searching for the perfect word, he amused himself by tickling Grovel's unfeeling foot with his quill feather. Nathyrra was absorbed in a book written by the infamous Maker on whose island they were sojourning, and Tree Branch was equally absorbed in a heated conversation with a rat. There was nothing for Valen to do but stand and wait. Though he was admittedly rather indifferent to standing, the warrior absolutely hated waiting.

Deekin suddenly cried for joy. He had managed to stick his quill between Grovel's toes, and it was now standing up as straight and proud as a war banner. He clapped his tiny hands. Valen gave a tiny snort.

"There, there, Valen," Nathyrra said mechanically, as if in imitation of their recently conquered foes. "Everything will be alright." She lightly patted his foot.

Valen silently fumed at her for a moment before saying through tightly gritted teeth, "I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one in this group. You can't honestly believe that these individuals are actually going to save us!"

Nathyrra looked up from where she had been sitting at his side and rolled her violet eyes. "Really, Valen, you're too hard on them. They're strangers to this land, as you were once, and they're having a difficult time adjusting is all. Just because they aren't big and strong like you—"

"Big and strong has nothing to do with it!" Valen snapped. "Look at them! The kobold is irritating and lacks confidence, the gnomish one is completely unpredictable, and the goblin, _our leader_, is a complete and utter coward! How do you expect me to trust them, let alone believe in them?"

Nathyrra slammed her book shut and stood up. "Okay, fine, you're right," she hissed, eyes flashing. "They are all completely unsuited to the task at hand, but they are _all we have_. The goddess sent them to us for a reason, and more importantly, the Seer assigned us to help them. You may not like it, but you're just going to have to grin and bear it. I don't care if you don't trust them, but you have to pretend like you do!"

"Trust whom?" asked Tree Branch, silently appearing beside them.

"Oh, umm…" Nathyrra fumbled for an answer. "Aghaaz! We were just discussing whether or not we trust Aghaaz. Right, Valen?"

Valen just stared at the druid blankly, marveling at how she snuck up on him. He was getting rusty. Too many distractions… He felt something kick his shin and heard Nathyrra whisper, "Grin and bear it!" He forced his mouth into a strained smile.

Tree Branch shook her head at him. "Even I can do better than that," she said dryly. Turning to Nathyrra, she said, "He does not trust us, does he? That is what you were really talking about?"

Nathyrra gulped as she felt the druid's gaze burning into her. She nodded quickly and stared at her feet. Valen kicked the drow in return as Tree Branch focused her attention on him. "Why do you not trust us, tiefling?" she asked.

Valen was taken aback by her directness and found himself at a loss for words. There were so many responses to choose from… "I do not trust the goblin because he sided with Aghaaz," he said finally. "It is clearly a creature of evil and oppression whose forces have no place in our army."

"Is Grovel's decision truly surprising to you?" Tree Branch asked in reply. "As I am sure you have observed, he is primarily motivated by fear, and Aghaaz has a much more fearsome demeanor than Ferron had. Just because he does not share your noble ideals does not automatically make him untrustworthy."

It took Valen a moment to realize the druid had finished speaking and was waiting for him to offer another reason. Flustered, he said, "That kobold is always writing. It's very suspicious. And annoying."

"Hah," Tree Branch said. (Though she understood the concept of laughing, sometimes she forgot that it involved more than just saying laughing words.) "I sympathize with your annoyance. I can assure you that Deekin's antics will grow on you in time. And if you ask him, he will most certainly show you what he has written, though I completely understand your reluctance to do so." Again she waited.

Valen couldn't take much more of this conversation, so he shouted in frustration, "YOU TALK TO RATS!"

This sudden outburst scared poor Grovel awake, who jumped up screaming and sent Deekin's quill flying across the room. Nathyrra shot Valen a glare and hurried to the goblin's side to calm him down. Tree Branch merely tilted her head, oblivious to the chaos behind her, and said, "Talking to rats? That is your reason for not trusting me? I did not think you were so foolish. Plenty of people talk to animals, and I have found that this habit is not an accurate predictor of moral character one way or the other. Some are trustworthy, some are not. No, I would have thought you would say that my abhorrence of all things unnatural, including yourself, is what causes you not to trust me."

Valen's mouth dropped open, and his face rapidly turned red. Nathyrra tensed as tight as a coil and clamped her hand over Grovel's mouth to stop his screaming. After Valen managed to close his mouth again he breathed in deeply to control his rage. "You think I am unnatural?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Tree Branch did not appear intimidated in the least. "I did not say I think you are unnatural. I said you _are_ unnatural. This is an important distinction."

"Elaborate for us, please."

"You are a tiefling," the druid began, as though this was nothing more serious than a classroom lecture. "That means that you are part demon and part human. It is simply unnatural for a demon to mate with a human. Demons are not creatures of this plane, and thus neither they nor their offspring have any place it in. It upsets the Balance."

"So you would send me back to the Abyss, then," Valen spat.

"Yes, or any other plane that was not this one," Tree Branch replied mildly. "I tolerate your presence, however, because it is clear you have a role to play here in this realm. I would see that role fulfilled, just as I would see Grovel fulfill his role. Indeed, it would be counterintuitive for me to betray you or in any other way prevent you from succeeding in your goals. I do not see, under the circumstances, how you can possibly fail to trust me."

Valen stared at the woman, stunned into silence. He had never been so serenely insulted in his life, and he found the druid's lack of malice entirely unnerving. In spite of, or perhaps because of that, he was surprised to realize that he believed her every word. He still had one question, however: "What happens if—when we defeat the Valsharess?"

Tree Branch was silent, her eyes closed in meditation. Clearly she thought the conversation was over. Valen cleared his throat loudly, and the druid opened her eyes in annoyance. "When the Valsharess is defeated, you and I will go our separate ways. If our paths are fated to cross again, you will find in me neither a friend nor an enemy. I will attempt to facilitate your exit from this plane, and you will either help or hinder me in this regard. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

Valen nodded, surprising himself. "Excellent," Tree Branch said, clapping her hands together, though if she did this in happiness or just to get everyone's attention only she knew. "Now, this rather irritating rat has told me of a secret password that will allow us to bypass the next guardians. He said there are a few more obstacles in our way—"

Tree Branch was interrupted by Grovel's muffled protesting. Nathyrra appeared confused to find her hand impeding the goblin's speech, so absorbed was she in Valen and Tree Branch's argument, and she quickly moved her hand away.

"Grovel not want to go any farther into dungeon, no, no, no. Dungeons are _creeeeeeeepy_, Grovel should know, Grovel lived in one for a long, long time, too long, too long. Grovel thinks we should go back to the surface, yes, yes, yes. We have the allies we need, yes? No? Maybe? That's what we came for, yes? No?"

Before Grovel could add his last "maybe", Nathyrra cut in, annoyed. "Do you mean to say I've been carrying around all these golem parts for nothing? I've been reading these manuals, and I might be able to construct one myself given the proper equipment."

"Deekin also thinks we should go down. There be so much more legendary stuff to sees!"

Grovel emphatically shook his head "no," and then Valen surprised everyone by speaking in the goblin's defense. "I agree with the goblin. We have accomplished what we set out to do, and any further exploration could very likely result in all our deaths. It is better to retreat now with the gains we have made than risk losing all."

Grovel stared at Valen in disbelief. Valen returned his stare, hardly believing it himself.

Tree Branch threw up her arms in frustration. "Well, there went a half hour of my life that I will never get back," she said, casting a pointed look at the rat she had been speaking to. The rat squeaked at her, presumably an insult, and Tree Branch squeaked right back. Valen raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared back at him. "Do not judge me," she muttered, and she marched off in the direction of the stairs to the surface.

Deekin, having finally found his quill, hurried forward to walk next to Valen. "Does Goatman think the duergars will be happy to sees us? Deekin hopes so. Deekin hope they bakes cake for us! What is your favorite kind of cake, Goatman? Deekin finds it hard to choose, they all be so good! Deekin like vanilla cake, chocolate cake, deva's food cake…"

Valen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Nathyrra…" he called.

"No, Valen," the drow snapped, "I am not carrying your unnecessarily heavy flail again. What did I tell you to do?"

Valen glared at her and once again tried to grin. "That's much better," Nathyrra said with a false sweetness, and she happily walked along, blissfully flail-free.

* * *

Grovel was lying on the floor in the cabin of the boat, moaning in pain with each rolling wave. They were sailing back to Lith My'athar, their goals on the islands miraculously accomplished. When he thought about it, Grovel was actually quite proud of himself for his role in their successes. Then the boat lurched, and all he could think about was keeping the contents of his stomach intact.

"Stupid Goblin needs to not be so noisy," Deekin snapped at him. "Deekin need peace and quiets to writes epic tale."

Grovel briefly stuck his tongue out, only to find himself quickly pulling it back in again to help stop the bile from exiting his mouth. After he had sufficiently collected himself, he eyed the kobold curiously. "Nasty Kobold writing epic tale about Grovel?"

"Of course nots. Deekin writing epic tale of Boss's adventures in Underdark. It be sequel to massively successful hit book of Deekin's called _Shadows of Undrentide_. Stupid Goblin be minor character only. Provides comic relief, mostly. And dies a lots."

Grovel yelped. "Grovel not dead, no, no, no. Grovel hasn't ever been dead, no, no, no. Grovel not going to be killed by evil looking drow lady with nasty red whip and nasty demon friend, NO, NO, NO!"

"STOPS SHOUTING, STUPID GOBLIN!" Deekin screamed back, completely unaware of the wealth of essential plot material Grovel just placed at his feet. "You never dies permanently in story, anyways. Boss always raises you. Otherwise, Deekin couldn't comes up with new ways for you to die. Deekin currently favoring Stupid Goblin eating moldy duergar cake and dieing of food poisoning. Or maybe…" the kobold got a truly wicked grin on his face, "maybe Stupid Goblin gets thrown from boat by big wave…"

Poor Grovel, whose mind was already racing with thoughts of murderous drow, could not take any more teasing about his demise, and he pulled out Enserric and rushed at his literary tormentor. Deekin was so absorbed in writing down this newest burst of ideas that he was oblivious to Grovel's fury, but he need not have worried. The boat did in fact hit a big wave, and although Grovel was not thrown from the boat, he was thrown from his feet, and Enserric was thrown from his hand. Both fell to the floor with a clang and a clunk.

"I deserve so much better than this!" Enserric wailed, but neither goblin nor kobold paid the blade any attention, for at that moment Nathyrra and Valen stormed into the cabin, dragging a sopping wet Tree Branch between them.

"How many times do we have to tell you, gnome, that river is not safe for swimming!" yelled Valen as he threw her, rather forcefully, onto the nearest chair.

Tree Branch crossed her arms and legs and glared at her rescuers. "As the resident expert on all things natural, I think I will trust my own judgment regarding which bodies of water are safe and which are not."

"Tree Branch," Nathyrra began to plead, but the druid firmly closed her eyes, and the drow knew better than to try to continue their conversation.

Valen, however, was not as fast a learner as his assassin companion. "Rivers in the Underdark are completely different from rivers on the surface!" he railed at his unresponsive target. "They are corrupted by the dark forces that populate this realm! Or did they not teach you that at 'nature academy'!"

"Valen, can't you see it's useless? She's clearly meditating, which means she isn't listening…"

"Stops shouting, Goatman! Deekin needs to write!"

"I could have been a longsword, wielded by a king, somewhere far, far away from here!"

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

This last screamer was Grovel, and he was screaming because he had been startled by the appearance of Cavallas the hissing boatman. It was not that Grovel was particularly frightened by Cavallas, though he certainly thought the boatman scary, but Grovel had been thinking about a different mysterious hooded figure that Deekin's constant talk of death had reminded him of. He sincerely hoped never to see this particular creature again, and for a moment he had mistakenly believed Cavallas was this creature, come to take him back to that unnaturally cold place…

"Isss everything alright in here, my passssengersss?" Cavallas asked, as politely as his innately unsettling voice would allow.

Nathyrra, taking charge since no one else would, gave everyone around her a pointed glare. Grovel, Deekin, and Valen looked sufficiently chastised, and Enserric at least switched to muttering his grievances instead of shouting them. Tree Branch, of course, took no notice since her eyes were still closed. Satisfied that order was restored, the drow turned to the boatman and said, "Yes, Cavallas, everything is perfectly alright. You may go back to your duties now."

Cavallas bowed and dutifully obeyed. Nathyrra picked up Enserric and handed the sword back to Grovel, who quickly stashed it back in his belt. Valen sat down in a corner and began to aggressively clean his flail. Tree Branch continued to meditate. Deekin resumed his writing, but after a few moments he pulled something out of his pack and walked over to Grovel.

"Here," Deekin said, shoving a book into the goblin's still-trembling hands. "This be Deekin's enormously popular tale called _Shadows of Undrentide_. Deekin be thinking Stupid Goblin should reads it. Makes you more cultured, maybe."

Grovel looked at Deekin almost hopefully. "Nasty Kobold wants to be friends with Grovel, yes? No? Maybe?"

Deekin considered a moment and then said, "Maybe."

The goblin grinned and opened the book. As he bent over the well-worn pages, another wave threw the boat into the air.

Grovel threw up.


	4. O Christmas Tree Branch

O Christmas Tree Branch

_This chapter doesn't really advance the plot, per say, but is instead a little story I thought up over the holidays. Unfortunately, I was too busy to actually finish it before Christmas, but even though December is now over I hope you enjoy it all the same! -Bondari_

* * *

Grovel was still moaning.

There are, of course, an infinite number of reasons for Grovel to be moaning, but the reason why Grovel was _still_ moaning was that he was _still_ on the boat. The waters of the Dark River were more turbulent than usual, and Cavallas was having a very difficult time sailing back to port. Cavallas said that the river was upset by something and that he was going to try talking to it. Naturally, this prospect of conversing with a body of water intrigued Tree Branch greatly, but the eerie boatman was not willing to share his secrets with a surfacer. After a needlessly long staring contest, Cavallas secured a passive aggressive victory, and Tree Branch returned to the cabin in an extraordinarily foul mood.

In fact, nearly all of them were in a foul mood to one degree or another. Grovel, of course, was terribly seasick, Deekin was furious with the goblin for vomiting all over his interplanar best-seller, and Valen was so frustrated at being cooped up in the tiny cabin that he had taken to dropping his flail on various pieces of furniture to see if they would break. So far he had succeeded in demolishing two crates and a footstool, but a sturdy bookshelf was so far withstanding his assault. Valen narrowed his piercing blue eyes at the offending structure and threw his weapon at it with all his strength. The bookshelf promptly shattered, and the tiefling smiled ever so slightly.

"That doesn't count," said Nathyrra, the only one who wasn't actively miserable. She had appointed herself the judge of Valen's destructive game and had awarded him two 9s and a 10 so far. "You aren't allowed to throw it!"

Valen's smile remained on his face for another few seconds, which Nathyrra believed was a record. "I didn't throw it," he insisted. "I dropped it aggressively."

Nathyrra rolled her eyes and surveyed the room. She had never seen a more depressing group of individuals in her life, and considering her history, that was saying something. The ship suddenly tipped drastically, and Grovel rolled across the floor until he hit her feet with a muted whimper. As his pitiful yellow eyes looked up into her beautiful violet ones, Nathyrra couldn't take it any longer. She took a deep breath and uttered the words she had been avoiding for so long: "Deekin, how about a tale?"

All four of her companions looked at her in surprise.

"What are you doing?" she heard Valen hiss from behind her.

Tree Branch's face asked the same question.

"No, no, no…" Grovel muttered weakly.

Deekin smiled.

"Okay, Drow Lady! Deekin has good tale for you, one that is especially appropriate for this time of year." The kobold stood up and attempted to clear his throat, which caused him to hawk up a small bone from whatever he had last eaten. Tree Branch inhaled deeply in disgust and firmly closed her eyes. "Sorry, Boss," Deekin whispered, but seeing that his boss had no intention of opening her eyes again he faced the rest of his captive audience and threw his arms wide.

"This be a tale from a place far away. From another plane, in fact—"

"Which plane?" Valen interrupted. Deekin glared at him as long as he dared before saying, "It be very rude to interrupts the storyteller."

Valen sighed. "Forgive me for actually taking an interest in your story," he snapped. "I was just curious which plane it was because I may have been there in my travels."

"Deekin not remember name, but Deekin sure you not been there. They keeps their goats and their men separate on this plane, that they do."

"Heh, heh, heh," Grovel snickered until he felt Valen's foot colliding with his back.

"Anyways, Deekin continues with story now." He paused, making sure he had regained their attention before continuing. "In this far away plane, there be a legend about a magical elf who brings toys and presents to children once every year, during wintertime Deekin thinks. It's been a while since Deekin tolds this story."

"That's okay, Deekin, it's very interesting," Nathyrra said with a smile forced wide, hoping it would inspire the others to do the same. It did not. The drow kept trying. "What does this elf look like?" she asked, feigning curiosity.

"Deekin glad you asks, Drow Lady!" replied the bard happily. "This elf be very old, with huge white beard like a dwarf, and he has a huge belly that shakes like a bowl full of… umm, marmalade? No, that not sounds right…"

"Wait a minute, you're saying this elf is fat?" asked Valen incredulously.

"Yes, that be what Deekin saying."

"That makes no sense, kobold. Elves are skinny and frail. Frail-ish," he amended with a glance at Nathyrra. "How in the hells did this elf get so fat?"

"That not be part of Deekin's tale, Goatman. Goatman should stop asking so many questions, maybe," Deekin said tersely.

"Well, I don't believe you," Valen shot back. He turned to the druid sitting in the corner, legs crossed and eyes closed. "Tree Branch!" he yelled. The gnome did not move. "TREE BRANCH!" he yelled louder, throwing a chunk of wood at her. Fortunately for Valen, he missed. The sound it made as it hit the wall behind her, however, was enough to rouse her from her meditation, and she opened her eyes just a fraction. "Yes?" she drawled, fixing her tiny eye-slits on the tiefling.

"You've spent your whole life on the surface, haven't you?" Valen asked her. Tree Branch continued to glare at him silently. He assumed that meant "yes". "Well, in all your travels, have you ever seen a fat elf?"

"No." Tree Branch's eyes closed again.

Valen turned triumphantly back to Deekin. "See, kobold, there's no such thing as a fat elf. Your story can't be true."

"Wait, wait, wait, Grovel has an idea," said the goblin, forcing himself into a sitting position. "If this fat elf is from another plane, all elves on that plane could be fat, yes? No? Maybe?"

"That be smart thinking, Stupid Goblin!" said Deekin happily. "You see, Goatman, elves on this plane be fat, and this elf be fattest of them all! That be why he brings presents to human children!"

"Because he's fat?" Valen asked.

"Exactly! Goatman gets it now!"

"Oh, by the pits of hell!" Valen muttered under his breath, and he picked up his flail to attempt to break the nearby desk, giving up on ever understanding Deekin's tale.

Nathyrra looked from the angry tiefling to the angry gnome and sighed. She'd hoped that getting Deekin to tell a tale would cheer everyone up, regardless of if the tale itself made any sense. At least Grovel wasn't moaning anymore. "Tell us more, Nasty Kobold, yes, yes, yes!" he cried happily.

"Okay, okay, where was Deekin… Oh, yes, Fat Elf brings presents to all children in the middle of the night—"

"The middle of the night?" asked Nathyrra. "What kind of ceremony for children happens in the middle of the night?"

"It not be a ceremony exactly, drow lady. Fat Elf brings presents to children's houses, one by one."

"But why does he do it at night?" Nathyrra pressed, legitimately curious this time.

"Umm, Deekin thinks the children has to be sleeping. They can't see Fat Elf, or he not gives them presents."

"So he breaks into their homes? That doesn't seem like a very nice thing to do."

"Ooo, ooo, ooo, Grovel has another idea! Maybe Fat Elf has secret assassin training, and if the children see him, he stabs them in the back, like nice drow lady does! Yes!" He smiled up at Nathyrra.

"No," replied the assassin coldly.

"Maybe?" asked Grovel, his voice suddenly very small.

"No, no, no, Stupid Goblin!" cried Deekin, irritated at his thunder being stolen. "This be Deekin's story, and Deekin says there be no assassins. Just Fat Elf breaking into children's houses to leaves them presents under these trees they cut down and puts in their houses."

"Trees?" asked Tree Branch from the corner. Her eyes were open, and they were angry. "What kind of monsters would violate the sanctity of nature by bringing trees into their artificial constructions?! That is simply unconscionable!"

Nathyrra had never seen the druid this angry before, and her hand instinctively went to the dagger tucked into her boot. Even Valen stopped his attempted demolition and watched her warily. Deekin shuffled his feet nervously and stared at the ground. "Deekin not knows why they does that, Boss. Deekin just storyteller!"

"All those innocent trees murdered just to appease some overweight, materialistic, fey creature? They should all be destroyed for their crimes!" Tree Branch roared, drawing herself up to her full height, which was actually a more impressive sight than you would think.

"See, Nasty Kobold? Your story would have been better if the fat elf had been an assassin killing the children. Your boss wouldn't be acting scary right now, no, no, no."

Deekin stuck his tongue out at the goblin, but he had to admit Grovel was right. Tree Branch was acting very scary, and Deekin didn't like that one bit. The bard swallowed his pride with a gulp and said, "Actually, Boss, Deekin thinks he remembers wrong. Deekin thinks Stupid Goblin be right, Fat Elf kills the children who cuts down trees. He gives presents to other ones, ones who respects nature and all the plants and animals."

Tree Branch looked at him suspiciously, but she seemed to be calming down slightly. "Are you sure, Deekin?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Grovel chimed in. "In fact, Grovel has heard this story before, from mad mage Halaster while Grovel was in Undermountain, yes, yes. In that version, the fat elf impales the children with the dead trees as punishment, yes, yes he does. Halaster was very fond of stories with impalings, very fond, very fond."

Tree Branch looked at the goblin. She didn't believe him for a second—nor did she believe Deekin, for that matter—but she couldn't help but be impressed by Grovel's resourcefulness in trying to help his maybe-friend. She wasn't sure whether Grovel's newfound talent for telling false tales would be a blessing or a curse on their adventure, but it was certainly interesting and, for now, that was enough for Tree Branch. "I see," she said. "Is that the end of your story, Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss, Deekin finished now," the bard mumbled.

"Very good, then. I think that was the best tale you have ever told, Deekin. Good job." Tree Branch reached out her arm and patted the kobold awkwardly on the head. Deekin beamed at her, pleased to receive an acknowledgement of his boss's affection. Tree Branch, however, frowned. "No, I do not think I will be doing that again," she muttered and walked to the door.

"Where are you going, Tree Branch?" asked Nathyrra.

"To wash my hands," Tree Branch yelled over her shoulder.

The look of confusion on Nathyrra's face was quickly replaced by one of dismay. "In the river?" she asked weakly, but Tree Branch had already closed the door behind her.

Grovel put his face in his hands. "Not again, no, no, no," he wailed and resumed his moaning.

Valen "aggressively dropped" his flail on the desk, shattering it into hundreds of wood chippings. "Can't we just let her fall in this time?" he asked hopelessly.

Nathyrra glared at him and picked up a length of rope. "Come on, Valen, before Cavallas pushes her overboard."

"She'd probably like that, you know," he insisted as he followed the drow out the door.

Deekin and Grovel were left alone in the cabin. "Wells, Stupid Goblin, Deekin guesses we is back to where we starteds." Grovel was silent, his face turning a pale green color. Deekin smirked wickedly. "Yes? No? Maybe?" he sang mockingly.

Grovel walked up to Deekin and threw up. They were indeed right back where they'd started.


	5. Ch 4:The Legend Fills His Stomach,Gooily

**Chapter 4—The Legend Fills His Stomach, Gooily**

Grovel bent down to look at the rather unusual rock in front of him. It was lighter in color than most of the other rocks he had found so far, and more importantly, it seemed to be shining. Grovel liked shiny things. He picked it up and scampered excitedly back to Tree Branch. "How about this one?" he asked the gnome, holding it up so she could see it properly. "You like it, yes? No? Maybe?"

Tree Branch took it from the goblin's weak little hands and peered at it closely. "Yes, Grovel, this is a fine specimen indeed. I particularly like the way it catches the light. Fascinating, truly fascinating. Thank you, Grovel," she said to him with a smile. Grovel wished she wouldn't smile; it wasn't a very good look on her. Still, they were both enjoying themselves, and that was such a rare occurrence that the gruesome face the gnome made was worth it.

They had been mercifully released from Cavallas's boat late the previous night and had given their report to the Seer in the morning. The Seer was pleased to hear about the golem allies, but she was a little put out by Grovel's refusal to hand over the magic mirror they had retrieved from the avariel. The little goblin had apparently grown quite attached to the artifact, obsessively cleaning it whenever he was feeling stressed (which was often), and he simply would not part with it. Though the Seer was reluctant to let such an obviously powerful artifact remain in the hands of one so obviously unsuited to wielding it, she chose to place her faith in the Savior of Eilistraee and allowed him to keep it. Considering what was to come, she may have preferred it if Eilistraee would have interfered in this instance, but goddesses work in mysterious and not altogether logical ways.

After this meeting, the adventurers had set off for the Underdark proper, which was every bit as bleak, barren, and unforgiving as Nathyrra had promised Tree Branch weeks ago. The druid was delighted. There was nothing polished or artificial about the slab of rock that had nearly fallen on her head as she passed underneath it, and she had rejoiced at this near brush with death, claiming that she was finally truly living once again as nature intended. She then proceeded to dance a little jig that was so indescribably repulsive that Deekin could not bring himself to write about it in his book.

Deekin was also not going to be writing about this latest game of Tree Branch's and Grovel's, though this decision was made more from jealousy than from concern for his readers' sanity. Grovel had noticed that the druid was very interested in the rocks that populated the Underdark, and she had mumbled during one of her meditations about how she wanted to take some of these rocks back to her druid grove so she could properly compare them to the ones on the surface. So Grovel took it upon himself to search the ground for unusual stones that might make good candidates for study, and he and Tree Branch had been having a grand old time, much to Deekin's dismay.

"Why does Boss smiles like that at Stupid Goblin?" the kobold muttered to himself as he watched them. "Deekin can finds rocks just as good as Stupid Goblin. Deekin can throws rocks, too. Throws rocks at Stupid Goblin, maybe…"

"Don't even think about it, kobold," snapped Valen. "I cannot let you harm him. He's our 'savior.'" The tiefling grimaced as though he had just eaten a moldy piece of cake, but his threat lost none of its ferocity. Deekin whimpered softly, but he continued to glare at Grovel as the goblin raced up a hill, hot on the trail of another potential rock.

"Grovel sees lots of good rocks up here, yes, yes, yes!" he cried happily. He was, in fact, happier than he had been in years, since before he ended up in Halaster's dungeon. He liked helping Tree Branch look for rocks. There was nothing scary or dangerous about that, and she even let him clean them. No, life was bliss for little Grovel, at least until he reached the top of the hill.

Grovel gasped for joy. There, sitting in the middle of the plateau, was a diamond, the purest diamond Grovel had ever seen. And it was oh so shiny! Grovel raced forward, never thinking that it was rather unusual for precious gems to be sitting in plain sight, never considering that maybe this was a trap meant to lure in unsuspecting treasure hunters like himself. He held the diamond high and cried, "Huzzah, Nasty Kobold! Look what Grovel found!"

"Shut up, Stupid Goblin!" Deekin screamed, racing up the hill as fast as his scaly legs would carry him. "Huzzah be Deekin's word, not yours!"

Grovel stuck his free thumb in his ear and jumped up and down while making rude noises with his tongue. This gloating would be Grovel's undoing, as before any of the others could react, the ground beneath the goblin's feet suddenly gave way, and he fell screaming into the earth.

* * *

Grovel awoke to someone poking at his foot. He sat up quickly and pulled out Enserric. "Stay away, evil thing! Don't hurt Grovel, no, no, no, Grovel is armed, armed and dangerous!"

Deekin rolled his eyes. "You'll forgive Deekin if he not believes you," the kobold muttered.

"Oh, it's just you, Nasty Kobold." Grovel sheepishly put his sword on his lap. "What are you doing here? Where is here, anyway, hmm? You know where we are, yes? No?"

"MAYBE!" shouted Deekin, heading Grovel off before he could get into his repetitive groove. "Deekin sees Stupid Goblin fall into the ground, but Deekin is running at Stupid Goblin, so he not able to stops in time, and he falls in, too. Stupid Goblin stops screaming at some point because you passes out, Deekin thinking."

"That's not surprising, no, no, no," said Grovel. "So, where are we, where, where?"

"DEEKIN GETTING TO THAT!" The kobold cleared his throat as Grovel glared at him impatiently. "As Deekin falls, he hears the others yell something about a 'stinkhole', maybe. Or maybe it be 'slinkhole.' Hard to say, what with Stupid Goblin screaming, and Deekin screaming a little, too, but that not be as important."

"So we're in a stinkhole?" asked Grovel. "That sounds bad, very bad, very bad."

"That be what Deekin thinks at first, but really it not smells so bad in here. The ground be kind of squishy, though. See?" Deekin stuck a scaly finger into the ground, and to Grovel's surprise it made a hole quite easily. Deekin pulled his finger out again, and Grovel saw it was covered in a gooey green substance. Grovel grabbed Deekin's hand and smelled the goo, much to Deekin's revulsion. He was just beginning to protest when Grovel suddenly stuck the gooey finger in his mouth.

"WHAT IS STUPID GOBLIN DOING, EATING DEEKIN'S FINGER!?" the kobold screamed in rage. He pulled his finger out of Grovel's mouth and fell backwards onto the surprisingly bouncy ground.

Grovel licked his lips and swallowed. "Tastes like lime," he said with a smile. "Grovel likes limes, yes, yes, yes."

Deekin struggled to push himself into a sitting position. He was, of course, furious with the goblin, but his curiosity outweighed his anger. "What be limes, Stupid Goblin?"

Grovel narrowed his eyes at the kobold. "Grovel not telling you, Nasty Kobold. To think, you actually thought Grovel would eat your nasty finger, yuck, yuck, yuck! Grovel would rather starve, yes, yes, yes." He spat at Deekin and picked up Enserric again. "Grovel going to eat more, Grovel hasn't eaten a good tasty meal in too long, too long."

As Deekin watched, Grovel carved a small square into the ground. Then, he stuck Enserric in the middle of the square like a spear and pulled out a chunk of the semi-solid substance. The talking sword had borne all of these antics with a surprising amount of restraint, mainly because up until this moment he had been just as confused as the others about what exactly had happened to them; but as Grovel brought the sword ever closer to his open mouth, Enserric could take no more. "NO, NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO!" he screamed, louder than either of the other two. "I have suffered many gross indignities since being conscripted into your wretched service, goblin, but I will not stand for this! I AM NOT AN EATING UTENSIL!"

"Shut up, sword. You're interrupting Grovel's enjoyment of his meal, yes, yes you are." Grovel chomped down on the cube of green goo. Enserric let out a mournful wail that echoed all around them; and suddenly, the ground began to move.

"Umm, Stupid Goblin?" Deekin asked nervously. "Deekin be thinking the ground not likes it overly much when you eats it."

"That's because he's not eating the ground, you insipid creature!" Enserric snapped. "What the goblin has just done is to stab a hole into a creature known as a gelatinous cube. These giant blocks of stuff scoot along in underground tunnels and engulf their prey in their sticky substance, slowly digesting them over a period of several weeks. According to my undoubtedly correct assumption, that hole you two idiots fell into was a trap set by the creature to catch unsuspecting, greedy victims. Unfortunately for it, you landed on top of it instead of in front of it, and now it cannot eat you."

"So Deekin and Stupid Goblin outsmart the trap! Huzzah!" Deekin cried happily.

"Huzzah!" echoed Grovel, though his mouth was so full it was really quite difficult to understand what he said. Deekin, however, got the gist. "What did Deekin say about that word? That be Deekin's word!"

Grovel was spared being yelled at any further when the cube suddenly lurched forward. Goblin and kobold were thrown uncomfortably close to the edge of the cube, and they both dug their claws into the green goo. If Enserric had been capable of rolling his eyes, he certainly would have. "You haven't outsmarted it yet, fools," he snapped. "It was by your incredibly dumb luck that you landed on top of it, and the cube will do everything in its power to shake you off. It is undoubtedly very hungry."

Grovel's customary look of panic was slowly replaced by a sly, confident grin. As confused as Deekin was by this whole experience, this transformation of Grovel's was by far the hardest to believe. "What Stupid Goblin be thinking?" he asked slowly, not sure if he really wanted to know.

"Grovel is thinking about what the sword said about the cube being hungry, yes, yes, yes."

"And that makes Stupid Goblin smile?" Deekin asked in disbelief.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Grovel replied happily. "Because as hungry as the cube is, Grovel is even hungrier! Heh, heh, heh!" And with that cheerful chuckle, Grovel opened his mouth wide and chomped straight down into the cube.

"Oh by all the gods in all the planes!" cried Enserric as he flew through the air after Grovel tossed him aside to free up his hands for shoveling gelatinous goo into his mouth. "You cannot possibly eat this entire cube! Your tiny little stomach will burst!"

"Stupid Goblin cannot succeed in his quest alone," Deekin intoned solemnly, "but with Deekin's help, he will be victorious!" With an excited yip, the kobold plunged down into the goo with his friend. Enserric quietly began to sob.

* * *

Three hours had passed. Grovel and Deekin lay on the ground, solid earth this time. They both had terrible stomachaches, but the gelatinous cube was no more. They were too exhausted to either congratulate or insult each other, and Enserric was stunned into silence, so the three enjoyed a few moments of relative peace and quiet. Then something fell from the sky and hit Grovel on the head.

"Did you throw something at Grovel, Nasty Kobold?" the goblin asked weakly. "Yes? No? Maybe?"

"Deekin not throws anything, Stupid Goblin," Deekin muttered, and he rolled over onto his side in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position.

"Look out below!" came a voice from above them. Sadly, Grovel was in such a deep food coma that he could not comprehend this warning, and Nathyrra landed right on top of his head.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he moaned, and Nathyrra quickly jumped off. "I'm so sorry, Grovel," the drow woman said as she helped him to his shaky feet. "Are you alright?"

"Grovel is fine, nice lady, Grovel is just full, very, very full."

Nathyrra moved him aside as Tree Branch slid down the rope that had hit Grovel in the head. She looked about and sniffed the air. "I smell limes…" she muttered.

"Oh, Boss, you'll never believe what Deekin and Stupid Goblin has been through!" Deekin cried as he jumped up and ran to his boss's side. "And Boss be right, there be limes in this story! Well, actually, just big jelly cube that tastes like limes. Deekin never has limes before, but Deekin thinks he likes them very much! Maybe not as much as apples, though, Deekin is very fond of apples…"

Valen landed on the ground with a loud thud. "Please stop, kobold. The last thing I'm in the mood for right now is more of your incessant ramblings about your favorite foods."

Deekin looked quite upset until Nathyrra patted him on the shoulder. "Don't mind him, Deekin. He's just upset because it's his fault it took us so long to find you."

"How is this my fault?" asked the tiefling angrily. "If the goblin hadn't run up the hill to grab that obviously suspicious diamond, none of this would have happened!"

"Yes," Nathyrra agreed patiently, "but you were the one who forgot to pack the rope, and that was why we had to go all the way back to Lith My'athar to get some."

"But why is that my responsibility? I know I'm the strongest of us, but I'm not in charge of the group's inventory just because I happen to be your pack mule!"

"You is not pack mule, Goatman," Deekin objected. "Mules not have horns, at least not any mule Deekin sees. You must be pack goat."

"Hah!" said Tree Branch, again forgetting to accompany the laughing word with an actual laugh. "That is a good one, Deekin." She smiled at him with a smile that only a faithful kobold companion could love. Deekin beamed back, pleased to have his place at his boss's side restored.

Valen looked ready to unleash a lot of pent-up demonic rage, so Nathyrra quickly grabbed his fail from his trembling hands. "Now that we're all happily reunited," she began cheerfully with a pointed look at Valen, "let's all climb back up the rope and continue on! Grovel, would you like to go first?"

Grovel looked up at Nathyrra with a look the assassin could not quite comprehend. It seemed to be a combination of pain and shame. Nathyrra understood the reason for this strange face a moment later when Grovel vomited green goo all over her freshly polished leather boots. She turned her face to the heavens and silently began her umpteenth prayer for patience to Eilistraee, but she was interrupted by someone poking at her thigh. She looked down to see Grovel, smiling this time as he held up the glistening, goo-covered diamond that had started this whole misadventure. "Grovel didn't realize he had eaten this, no, no, no. Grovel wants to give it to nice lady as a thank you for being so nice, so nice. You like it, yes? No? Maybe?"

Nathyrra couldn't keep herself from smiling. "Yes, Grovel, yes I do." She reached down to take it, but the goblin quickly pulled it back.

"No, no, no, not yet, you can't have it yet! Grovel must clean it first! Clean, clean, clean, Grovel must clean…" And he plopped himself down on the ground and began scrubbing at the diamond with his cleaning cloth.

Valen threw up his arms in frustration. "Well, I guess we'll set up camp down here since it doesn't look like we'll be leaving anytime soon."

"Good idea, Goatman! That way Deekin has plenty of time to tell story about adventures with goo! It be a most epic tale of friendship and feasting and victory over unimaginable evil! Except for the part where Stupid Goblin tries to eat Deekin's finger. That not be so epic…"

"Grovel didn't try to eat Nasty Kobold's finger!" Grovel snapped.

"Dids too!" Deekin snapped back.

"Did not!"

"Dids too!"

Tree Branch sighed, sat down, and closed her eyes. A long meditation suddenly sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world. In a few moments, the arguing voices of goblin and kobold became the soft chatter of a bubbling brook, and everything was at peace. Well, everything in Tree Branch's mind at least. And frankly, to Tree Branch, that was all that really mattered.


	6. Ch 5: The Legend's Backbone

**Chapter 5-The Legend Tries to Straighten His Backbone, Futilely**

After a nice long rest to give Grovel and Deekin enough time to properly digest the remnants of the vicious gelatinous cube, the band of intrepid adventurers ventured once again into the barren Underdark. They were searching for one of three things: a cult base, a beholder hive, or an illithid city. Nathyrra hoped they would find the cultists first because she looked forward to the challenge of infiltrating their ranks. Valen was hoping for beholders; no negotiating, no magic curses to break, just some good old-fashioned monster bashing. Deekin was looking forward to the mind flayers because he had read a lot about their culture and wanted to see it firsthand. He also wanted to pull on one of their tentacles to see what they felt like. After the illithid was already dead, of course. Deekin was no fool.

As for Tree Branch and Grovel, both were content to explore the area they were in. Grovel liked it because it was relatively free of monsters, giving him more time to clean his growing collection of belongings, while Tree Branch was pleased by the abundance of waterfalls. In fact, at this very moment she was cheerfully meditating underneath a particularly glorious waterfall, letting the water pound down on her head. Everyone else was busy fighting off a band of harpies, but Tree Branch was ignorantly splashing her tiny gnomish hands to the beat of a tune that could only be heard in her head.

"Boss, stops balancing!" cried Deekin as he nearly tripped over Tree Branch while dodging a harpy's claw. The druid did not respond.

"This really isn't a good time for meditation, Tree Branch!" yelled Nathyrra as she shot a magic missile past the gnome's face. Tree Branch continued to splash absently in the water.

"Wake up, you wretched druid!" Valen roared, and he swung his massive flail into the back of Tree Branch's head. The gnome fell forward into the river, but she was so deep in her meditations that she did not notice her head was now submerged in water.

"Valen, what did you do to her?!" Nathyrra yelled from behind the body of a harpy with a dagger in its back. Deekin let out an anguished cry and rushed to his boss's side.

Valen just stared at Tree Branch in shock. "I thought she'd wake up!" he offered weakly. Nathyrra spat a drow curse at him and helped Deekin pull the still-unresponsive druid out of the water.

"Druid is dead? Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!" Grovel wailed as he poked his head out from behind a rock where he had been hiding. He fixed Valen with a beady-eyed glare. "Grovel must avenge druid, must avenge! RAAAAAWR!" And to the surprise of everyone mentally present, Grovel rushed at Valen, Enserric drawn and pointed straight ahead.

Now, this is not, obviously, the kind of challenge the little goblin would normally undertake, but Grovel was feeling rather bold lately. He had, after all, been instrumental in defeating that menacing gelatinous cube, and he had even managed to stab one of the harpies before his natural tendency toward terror drove him to his hiding place. All in all, Grovel's self-confidence was through the roof, and no tiefling with rage issues was going to stand in his way.

That's what Grovel was telling himself, anyway, until he actually found himself toe-to-toe with the raging tiefling in question. Valen turned his confused gaze to the angry goblin shrieking at his knees. "You can't be serious?" he muttered, mystified by this strange turn of events.

"En garde, you pungent half-breed!" Enserric challenged with enthusiastic bravado. Valen's eyes narrowed. Grovel gulped. He was seriously beginning to doubt the practicality of this plan, but he was determined to be the hero everyone inexplicably expected him to be. Clearing his throat, he cried, "What the sword said, yes, yes, yes!" It came out as more of a squeak than Grovel would have liked, but still, it was progress.

"Valen, don't…" Nathyrra murmured as the warrior raised his weapon, but Valen would not be dissuaded. "You heard the goblin," he growled. "If it's a fight he wants, he's going to get one."

As Grovel stared up at the massive flail dangling above his head, he suddenly realized that he absolutely, positively did not want a fight. Especially not a fight with the giant demon-man. So poor Grovel fell back on his tried-and-true method of getting out of trouble.

He ran away.

He was vaguely aware of Nathyrra or Deekin yelling after him as he raced past a couple of foreboding looking wooden signs announcing the presence of a village. He thought he heard Valen's ferocious war cry as he barreled around a strange glowing orb on a stick. He pointedly ignored Enserric's cruel taunting as he flew across an ornately carved bridge. Grovel did not stop running until he ran straight into an obstacle standing unexpectedly in his path, which was, in fact, his usual method of stopping. Unfortunately for Grovel, this particular obstacle turned out to be a very angry duergar.

"Hey, watch where you're going, you nasty goblin!" the dark dwarf yelled as he shoved Grovel to the ground.

"So sorry, so sorry, Grovel not mean to hurt anyone, no, no, no," Grovel squealed. His eyes darted around to see two more angry-looking duergar. He began to wonder if he would have been better off fighting Valen instead.

"Didn't mean to hurt us, eh?" snarled the duergar. "Then why did you charge us with your sword pointed out?"

Grovel looked at him in confusion, then looked down at his hand to discover that he was indeed holding his sword pointed at the dwarves. Realizing that the duergar now saw him as a threat, albeit a very non-threatening one, he yelped uncomfortably and dropped Enserric as though the sword had burned his hand. "Grovel is not a threat, no, no, no! Grovel is quiet, boring, wimpy even, yes, yes, wimpy!" He immediately began cowering before the duergar, which was rather difficult to do because of the dwarf's size. Thankfully, Grovel had had a lot of practice at this sort of thing, and the duergar quickly smiled.

"Well, now, you say you're wimpy? We know what to do with wimpy goblins, don't we boys?" The other duergar laughed ominously.

"Heh, heh, heh," Grovel joined in. "Umm, what do dirty dwarves do with goblins like Grovel, hmm? You let wimpy goblins run, run, run away? Yes? No? Maybe?"

"I'm afraid the answer to your question is 'no', Grovel. Isn't it, _slaver_?" came a voice from behind him. Grovel turned to see Nathyrra with her rapier drawn, her violet eyes set in a fierce glare. Behind her were Valen, Deekin, and a rather wobbly-looking Tree Branch.

The duergar slaver spat. "This ain't your fight, drow. Back off, if you know what's good for you."

"Fight?" Grovel asked. "Grovel doesn't want a fight, no, no, no!" He turned to Valen and tried to smile. "Grovel was just kidding before, just kidding, heh, heh, heh!"

Valen rolled his eyes. "Pick up your weapon, goblin. You're getting your fight after all."

Deekin began to sing, and Grovel began to wail in harmony as he dove for his sword. In spite of their large axes, the duergar proved to be no match for the power of Valen's flail, the stealth of Nathyrra's rapier, or the soul-crushing awfulness of Deekin's melody. One of them was so affected by the kobold's music that he copied a move from Grovel's playbook and attempted to run away. His hands firmly clamped over his ears, he raced for the bridge, but unfortunately for him he raced a little too close to Tree Branch. She watched him approach with an expressionless face, but just as he came alongside her she suddenly bashed his head with her club.

Valen, who had been pursuing the duergar, pulled up short and looked with surprise at the corpse at his feet. He met the druid's eyes with a look of something approaching respect. Nathyrra, watching from afar, thought what a nice moment this was, possibly a breakthrough in their contentious relationship. The moment was shattered, though, when Tree Branch smashed her club into Valen's face.

The tiefling roared in pain as Tree Branch watched him dispassionately. Nathyrra rushed to their side, racking her brain for a petrification spell in case this turned really ugly. But when Valen raised his head again, he looked more shocked than angry. He waited for an explanation, which Tree Branch promptly provided: "I was told that you deserved that."

Valen turned to Nathyrra, who shook her head, and then to Deekin, who mumbled, "Deekin has to tell Boss about you smackings her into the river, Goatman. She not remembers anything. Deekin thinks she still has water in her head."

Valen looked back at Tree Branch, who had tilted her head completely to the side, apparently attempting to dislodge any remaining droplets. She was still watching him keenly, though, so he sighed and said, "The kobold is correct. Are we even now?"

Tree Branch raised her head and shook it furiously, as if she were trying to dry her hair. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her hair was, in fact, no longer wet. Valen crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. Nathyrra held out her arms slightly, concerned that the druid would fall over because of how violently she was whipping her head around. Grovel, not really having much interest in whether or not the gnome and the demon-man got along, busied himself with trying to pull the duergar leader's very shiny helmet off of his head.

Finally, Tree Branch stopped her shaking and faced Valen. "Yes, the balance between us has been restored," she said with a smile.

Valen rolled his eyes. "Thank the gods," he muttered.

"No," corrected Tree Branch. "Thank the Balance."

Valen looked about ready to smack Tree Branch again, so Nathyrra quickly cried, "Look, everyone, Grovel's found something! Isn't that exciting?"

"Now why on earth would I find that exciting, Nathyrra?" Valen snapped. Nathyrra was about to argue, but she realized with relief that the tiefling's anger was now directed at her instead of their water-logged druid companion, so she bit her tongue and shrugged her shoulders.

"I wonder, Nathyrra," said Tree Branch with a concerned look on her face, "if you are not perhaps mistaken as to the proper meaning of the word 'exciting.' Have you used the word often prior to this? In what contexts have you heard it spoken before?"

"Tree Branch, I know what 'exciting' means," the drow said wearily. This was quickly spiraling out of her control, and she did not like where it was headed one bit.

"I am not entirely certain that you do," Tree Branch replied evenly. "Otherwise, there is no possible reason for you to have used it in this instance." The gnome cleared her throat. "The word 'exciting' is an adjective meaning…"

While Tree Branch embarked on an etymology lecture which she no doubt found fascinating, Deekin was restringing his lute as he watched Grovel struggle with the dead duergar's helm. "Stupid Goblin not pulling hard enough," the kobold mocked with a mischievous grin.

Grovel glared at him. "Dirty dwarf has a very fat head, very fat. Grovel not sees how he gets helmet on his head in the first place, no, no, no."

"Stupid Goblin just making excuses," Deekin said confidently, but he put down his instrument and walked over to observe the goblin more closely. After further examination, the bard had to admit that this duergar had the fattest head of any dwarf he had ever seen. Of course, there was no way he was going to admit this to Grovel. Instead, he offered a helpful suggestion: "Why does Stupid Goblin nots just cuts fatty duergar's fatty head off?"

Grovel considered this for a moment. "That could actually work, maybe… Yes! … No… Maybe? … Yes, yes, yes!" He smiled and patted Deekin on the back. "How you get so smart, Nasty Kobold?"

Deekin drew himself up to his full height. "Deekin is most famous kobold bard. Deekin must reads everything he sees. Knowledge comes from books, and knowledge be power," he intoned solemnly.

"Grovel not have time for reading, no, no, no. Grovel too busy running. Running, running, all the time. Have you ever tried to read when you're running? It's very hard, the words get very blurry, very blurry, gives Grovel headaches, yes, yes, yes. No reading for Grovel, no, no, no." He shrugged his bony shoulders and picked up Enserric. "It's cutting time! Heh, heh, heh," he chuckled and set to work on his gruesome task.

"No, no, no!" Enserric screamed. "Oh, by the gods, I'm even talking like it now," the sword moaned. It made a sighing noise, which Grovel ignored. "How dare you saw with me, goblin!" Enserric continued, louder than before. "My edges are smooth, not serrated! I should be stabbing, you fool!"

"That sword sure does talks a lot, Stupid Goblin. Deekin not thinks it likes you very much."

"Oh, what a profound observation from the great, wise kobold," Enserric drawled. "I am in such awe of the overgrown lizard that I find myself at a loss for words!"

"Then why are you still talking, huh, sword, huh?" Grovel snapped. "If you talk less, you'll do a better job of cutting, yes? No? Maybe? Grovel's not impressed so far, not impressed, no, no, no."

"I TOLD YOU, YOU IDIOTIC CAVE DWELLER, I AM A SWORD, NOT A SAW!"

"SO TURN INTO A SAW, THEN! MUCH MORE USEFUL POWER THAN TALKING ALL THE TIME, YES, YES, YES!"

"DEEKIN NOT KNOWS WHY WE'RE YELLING, BUT HE THINKS WE SHOULD STOPS, MAYBE, BEFORE MORE FATTY DUERGARS COMES!"

"I quite agree, Deekin," Nathyrra said, quietly, but firmly. Her words cut through the screaming match much more effectively than Grovel's attempts to cut through the duergar's neck. Grovel and Deekin bowed their heads and whimpered softly. Nathyrra and Valen crossed their arms and competed for who could give the fiercest glare. Tree Branch walked over to a nearby rock formation and licked it. "What an interesting combination of minerals!" she exclaimed with a smile.

Nathyrra glanced her way and immediately wished she hadn't. Unable to contain a shudder at the gnome's ghastly grin, she quickly turned her attention back to the helmet Valen had pulled off of the duergar's head with minimal effort. "Is that a Helm of Shielding?" she asked.

"It appears to be," replied Valen. "It explains how the duergar were able to trade with the illithid without becoming thralls themselves."

"You know, Valen, we could use this to our advantage. If we pose as slavers, we would be able to enter Zorvak'Mur without calling attention to ourselves. I know that's not your preferred method of doing things—"

The tiefling shook his head. "You'll get no argument from me. Storming an illithid compound with weapons drawn is quite frankly suicidal for a party as small and inexperienced as ours." He shot a quick glance at Grovel, who was still futilely trying to cut off the duergar's head, and Deekin, who was taking copious notes on the goblin's pointless endeavor.

Nathyrra nodded. "So we're agreed, then. That doesn't happen often." They shared a small smile, but Nathyrra soon frowned. "You know, Valen, the illithid probably won't believe that all of us are slavers…"

"True," Valen admitted. "And we only have one helm…"

"Stupid Goblin shoulds be fake slaver," Deekin chimed in. Valen and Nathyrra looked at the kobold incredulously, partly because they hadn't realized he had been listening and partly because his idea was so completely ridiculous. "He is party leader, after all."

Grovel, realizing the others were talking about him, tried to straighten his back to appear more confident. This action so angered his naturally curved spine that he yelped in pain. Valen rolled his eyes for the third time in less than an hour.

"While that may actually be true, Deekin," Nathyrra said calmly, "I just don't think the illithid are going to believe that the four of us are taking orders from a goblin."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Valen muttered under his breath.

Nathyrra narrowed her eyes at him before continuing. "I'm afraid you're ruled out for the same reason, Deekin. Kobolds just aren't your typical slavers."

"Oh, that's fine with little Deekin," said the kobold happily. "Deekin wants to spends more time writings, anyways. Deekin finds the tentacles intriguing."

"Good," said Nathyrra, relieved to have two less people fighting over the helm. "I suppose we should consider Tree Branch… Tree Branch?" The assassin looked around. "Where did she go?"

Valen sighed and pointed down the path. "Tree Branch, where are you going?" he yelled after the wandering gnome.

"There is something unnatural about this waterfall!" she yelled back without turning around.

"What could possibly be unnatural about a waterfall?" Valen asked in exasperation. "I thought you loved them!"

"There is something wrong with this one. I am not sure what as of yet, but I intend to find out!"

"Tree Branch, can't it wait?" pleaded Nathyrra. "We have something important to discuss with you."

"Whatever you have to discuss pales in importance to this defilement of nature!" the druid shouted and turned the corner without so much as a glance back at them.

Four shocked faces watched her go, though why they were still shocked by any of Tree Branch's antics by this point remains a mystery. Finally, Valen said, "I don't think she would make a believable slaver, either."

"No," agreed Nathyrra, "she is too obviously a stranger to these lands."

With the druid eliminated from consideration, only two candidates for the role remained. Tiefling and drow stared at each other in silence until both of them burst out, "It should be me!"

"Why should it be you?" asked Nathyrra. "Because you're the _male_?" Disdain dripped heavily from her last word.

Valen clenched his fists tightly. "Of course that's not the reason," he said. "I am simply the most intimidating, the most threatening, the most obviously strong—"

"Male," Nathyrra finished for him. Before Valen could protest, she proceeded to list her own qualifications. "You may be intimidating, but I am a drow. The illithid are used to dealing with those of my kind, and they won't think twice about accepting me as a slaver, even if I'm not quite as muscular as you. Besides, you're the only one of us who's had any actual experience as a slave."

The sentence hung heavily in the air between them as they fell into silence, Nathyrra fervently wishing she could take it back, Valen clinging tightly to it as each painful memory of his former life played out in fast motion inside his mind. Grovel and Deekin instinctively reached for each other's hands, watching the others warily and ready to run the minute things got ugly.

Nathyrra finally opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything Valen threw the helmet at her feet. "Fine, drow, it's yours," he said, his voice as hard as the rocks surrounding them. "I'm going to go see what that infernal gnome is up to." He immediately turned and stalked off down the path.

Nathyrra picked up the helmet. Her violet eyes were sad as she watched him go. She knew she shouldn't have said what she did, but she also knew that they would all be safer with her steady hand and rational mind guiding them in their deception. She just wished there had been another way to make him understand.

"Umm, Drow Lady?" asked Deekin at her side. "Shoulds Deekin be calling you Boss now? Because Deekin worried that might confuse Actual Boss."

Nathyrra couldn't help but smile at the kobold's question. "No, Deekin, I think Drow Lady is fine. It's both subservient and respectful."

"Okay, sounds good to Deekin!" said the bard with a toothy grin.

"Grovel likes Drow Lady, too, yes, yes, yes, Grovel does!" said Grovel with a smile of his own.

Nathyrra laughed. "Alright, you two, take it down a notch. We can't have the illithid thinking you like me too much," she said as she slipped the helmet on. "Although it is nice to know that at least somebody does," she murmured, her words echoing off the sides of the surprisingly roomy helm. She closed her eyes and prayed to Eilistraee for a simple, hassle-free excursion into the mind flayers' lair. Whether by intention or due to an unfortunate divine oversight, Eilistraee did not oblige.


	7. Ch 6: The Legend Takes a Stand

_Author's Note: If this chapter seems a little incomplete, well, that's because it is. As I was writing it I realized it was getting way longer than any chapter I'd written before, so I decided to cut it in half to keep things relatively consistent and because it's been a while since I updated. I'll try to get the second half up soon, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy! -Bondari_

* * *

**Chapter 6—The Legend Takes a Stand, Disastrously**

"No, no, no! Giant Brain Thing cannot have Grovel's mirror! Mirror belongs to Grovel, yes, yes, yes; Grovel found it, Grovel keeps it!"

Nathyrra placed her helmeted head in her hand and groaned. Though Grovel was speaking with a remarkable amount of assertiveness in his voice, his face was a portrait of terror. Since the Elder Brain didn't have eyes, maybe it couldn't perceive how truly frightened the poor goblin was. That was Nathyrra's hope, but she wasn't planning on it being true.

She felt something brush lightly against her leg, and she looked down at her side to see Deekin writing furiously with his quill. She smiled a little, marveling at the kobold's ability to remain calm and positive in the face of such an unusual and dangerous situation. He was certainly holding up better than her other companions.

Valen was sulking in the corner, his hand on the hilt of Devil's Bane. Though he had reluctantly agreed to play the part of a slave for the sake of their deception, he seemed intent on being the most malcontent, disagreeable slave who ever lived. When Nathyrra had asked him to order some food for her at the illithid tavern, he had stubbornly refused, claiming he was concerned about his mistress's figure growing too large for her armor. She smacked him for that remark, and she had to admit it was rather satisfying to watch him shuffle off to serve her. Even though she was still feeling guilty about forcing Valen into pretend slavery, she was not about to put up with snide comments about her appearance. Valen had responded by falling into a morose silence, which truthfully wasn't that much different than his normal grumpy silence, so Nathyrra could live with that.

She was much more concerned about Tree Branch's changed behavior. The gnome had been satisfied at being correct about there being something unnatural about that blasted waterfall, and she had rather indifferently agreed to participate in their slave ruse. It seems, however, that the druid had never seen a mind flayer before, and when faced with their tentacle faces and their habit of speaking directly into people's minds, her nature-loving heart was paralyzed with horror. Nathyrra was sure that if the gnome had not promised to be quiet and obey her commands that she would have run around the city bashing every illithid in sight with her club. Being forced into docility, Tree Branch could only stare, openly and wide-eyed, at each abomination she passed. Now, faced with a giant brain with many tentacles floating in a liquid substance which was almost guaranteed to be unnatural, the druid had gone into a state of shock. Every once in a while, she would raise her arm from where she was frozen in place and utter some indescribable screeching sound, but the rest of the time she just stood there shaking, bound by her promise not to act without Nathyrra's permission, but unsure of how she would act if given the choice.

And then there was Grovel. The goblin had actually been the best fake slave out of all of them, probably because he was so used to cowering and following orders, but his slowly growing self-confidence chose an unfortunate moment to make a reappearance. Nathyrra had argued for a long time with the illithid guard to let her have an audience with the Elder Brain, and she had been forced to bribe the guard with her most valuable ring in order to be allowed to keep her Helm of Shielding on. It appeared, however, that all of her efforts would be in vain. The Elder Brain had agreed rather readily to abandon the Valsharess if it was well compensated. Unfortunately, the compensation it requested was the Mirror of All-Seeing that they had recovered from Shaori's Fell, and if Grovel had not been willing to give the powerful artifact to the kind, benevolent Seer, there was no way that he was going to give it to the creepy "Giant Brain Thing". To be fair, Nathyrra was not convinced that giving the mirror to a race of mind-reading slavers was a smart idea, but she would have at least preferred to take the offer back to the Seer and discuss it away from eavesdropping tentacles. But Grovel was not about to give her that opportunity. The mirror was his and his alone, and he had made it clear that there was nothing to discuss.

"Grovel's mirror, Grovel's mirror, you can't have it, no, no, no!" the goblin screamed, apparently in response to something the Elder Brain had thought at him. He was holding the mirror in his weak little hands, brazenly taunting his adversary in a manner Nathyrra feared was not going to help matters. Observing the way its tentacles were quivering in the pool of disgusting goop, Nathyrra judged that the Elder Brain was getting angry, and before she could act one of the tentacles suddenly snapped out and grabbed one handle of the mirror, lifting it and Grovel off the ground.

"Grovel!" Nathyrra cried, rushing to grab one of the goblin's feet.

"Let go of the mirror, you stupid goblin," yelled Valen as he caught one of the goblin's elbows.

"Hey, Stupid Goblin be Deekin's nickname for him, not yours, Goatman!" Deekin snapped, not looking up from his book.

"Blargh!" uttered Tree Branch, pointing uselessly at the brain.

"Mirror is Grovel's, yes, yes, yes!" Grovel stubbornly insisted. The Elder Brain suddenly yanked backwards, and Nathyrra and Valen lost their grips on the goblin. "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed as the Elder Brain shook him violently in the air, but against all odds, he hung on to his prized possession.

"Valen, grab him!" Nathyrra yelled as she prepared to shoot a magic missile at the tentacle.

"Is that an order, Mistress?" Valen snapped angrily.

"Oh, will you just let it go!" the drow snapped back, and she poked him in the back with her rapier. Valen turned to her with a growl, and for a moment she feared that he would come after her instead, but he leaped up and grabbed Grovel around the waist. "Let go, goblin!" he roared.

"No, no, no!" Grovel yelped back.

Nathyrra let her spell loose, and her vision was momentarily obscured by the visual discharge of the magic. Enveloped by the indigo haze, she heard a thud, a cry of despair, and something that sounded disturbingly like shattering glass. Nathyrra's heart leapt into her throat as an inexplicable force slammed her head into the wall behind her, and she knew no more.

* * *

Someone was stepping on her foot. Repeatedly.

Nathyrra sat up and tried to rub her eyes, but she found that this was a very difficult task to accomplish with a helmet on. As the mystery person stepped on her foot once again, she ripped off the Helm of Shielding and was about to unleash a nasty stream of foul drow language, but the sight that met her bleary eyes caused her mouth to hang open, unable to utter a sound.

The mind flayers were dancing.

With her protective helm removed, Nathyrra's brain was hit with a sonic cacophony the likes of which she had never heard before. A charming waltz bounced around her mind as the thoughts of the twenty or thirty illithid in the room converged inside her skull. The creatures moved gracefully around her as they inquired about their partner's plans for the evening or commented lightly upon the weather, linking their tentacles while their arms swayed at their sides. Another one stepped on her foot as she realized she was lying in their path. Using the wall behind her to pull herself up, she looked to the back of the room, where she saw the strangest sight of all. The Elder Brain, trapped as it was in its puddle of liquid grossness, was conducting this imaginary orchestra with its many tentacles. Nathyrra felt such happiness and joy radiating from the giant brain that she couldn't help smiling, staring at the monstrous creature in wonder.

Suddenly a tentacle was thrust into her view. "Would you like to dance?" thought the illithid it was attached to.

"Oh!" Nathyrra replied, quite surprised at this unusual request. "Umm, yes, I would be happy to." She took the offered appendage as gracefully as she could manage and found herself swept up in the mind flayer waltz.

"It is not often that one of the drow joins our dance," thought the illithid conversationally. "Did you come to Zorvak'Mur alone, my lady?"

"Alone? Umm… am I alone… No!" Nathyrra cried sharply. "I didn't come here alone! I came here with friends, four friends: a tiefling, a gnome, a kobold, and a goblin. Have you seen them?" She frantically began scanning the room for any sign of her companions, and she tripped on a crack in the floor.

"Calm yourself, my lady," her illithid partner mentally chided. "I have not seen any creatures such as you describe down here in the Elder Brain Dance Hall, but I'm sure they are fine. We in Zorvak'Mur strive to provide all our guests with the greatest hospitality."

"Hospitality?" asked Nathyrra in shock, her mind quickly trying to piece together the events that had transpired before she woke up. "You're slavers! You capture members of other races and turn them into your thralls!"

The mind flayer laughed inside her brain. "You must be mistaken, my lady. All are equals in Zorvak'Mur, and all races are welcome."

The illithid twirled her around as Nathyrra tried to remember. She could see the five of them down in this room, negotiating with the Elder Brain. Grovel was angry about something, and he was waving a shiny object in his hands…

The Mirror of All-Seeing.

The last thing she remembered hearing was the sound of glass shattering.

_ Oh, hells no._

The waltz was ending. The illithid pulled apart from her and bowed. "Thank you, my lady. It is always a pleasure to dance with a member of one of the tentacle-less races."

Nathyrra curtsied, thinking fast. "Wait, good sir illithid!" The illithid stood before her, waiting. "Umm, I came here looking for something. You see, one of my companions, the goblin, broke a mirror down here, and he didn't manage to pick up all of the pieces. Do you happen to know if anyone has found a shard of glass on the, umm, dance floor?"

The illithid scratched his head with a tentacle. "Hmm. I haven't seen one myself, but the Elder Brain is in charge of the lost and found. Come this way, please." He led her to the Elder Brain's pool. Nathyrra waited impatiently as he stared at the large brain for a moment. Then, one of the brain's tentacles reached into its resting pool and pulled out a sopping wet mirror shard. Nathyrra was grateful she was wearing gloves as she took it from the creature with a smile and a thank you. Her mind was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of sheer pleasure from the Elder Brain at being so helpful, and then the creature began its next lilting tune.

Nathyrra said farewell to her dance partner, picked up her helmet, and tucked the mirror shard away. Recalling her experience in Shaori's Fell, there should be four shards left, she reasoned. _And four guesses who has them. Now where could they be…?_

* * *

Nathyrra walked warily through the mind flayers gathered in the marketplace. They seemed quite as cheerful and pleasant as the ones she had encountered in the Elder Brain's chamber, but she had put her Helm of Shielding back on as a precaution. Each illithid inclined its head slightly as she passed it, and she found herself compelled to return the polite gesture. Her neck was starting to ache from the repeated bobbing, and she forced herself to take the risk and remove her helmet once again. She massaged the back of her neck as she looked around, her vision now unimpeded by the narrow eye slit of her helm. Her hearing improved as well, and her ears were suddenly assaulted by a loud, exuberant voice shouting from the north east: "Fifty gold to the ugly little duergar! Oh, don't give me that look, you know it's true! Do I hear seventy-five? Seventy-five gold for this fine specimen!"

As she hurried over to what she had previously noticed was a slave auction block, Nathyrra concentrated on the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but there was something slightly off about the excitement and enthusiasm the auctioneer conveyed. And what was being auctioned anyway? The illithid in the dance hall had said they no longer practiced slavery here. Unless he had been lying and this was all an elaborate hoax occurring only in her mind…

That troubling thought was put to rest as soon as Nathyrra drew close enough to see what was going on. Everything made perfect sense, in the sense that nothing made sense at all. A large crowd of humans, elves, and one truly ugly duergar were assembled around the auction block, bidding on the illithid twirling and posing on the stage. Looking closely, Nathyrra could see a shiny pink bow tied around one of its tentacles, and she thought she could detect a hint of makeup around its eyes. None of these mystifying sights, however, could divert her attention from the tiny auctioneer with the ghastly smile.

"Tree Branch!" Nathyrra cried, more in shock at seeing the gnome in such a state than actually expecting a response. Indeed, Nathyrra fancied she was watching a puppet that looked like Tree Branch rather than the druid herself. It was simply unthinkable that the reserved, taciturn woman she had been travelling with would be hopping about on a stage, waving her arms madly and coaxing her audience into handing over their gold. And yet, there she was, beaming with glee as an elf raised his arm and said, "I'll pay seventy-five."

"Splendid, splendid! Seventy-five gold to the muscular elf!" Tree Branch cheered with a wink that was clearly an attempt at flirtation that failed miserably. Apparently some things even the Mirror of All-Seeing was powerless to change. "Do I hear one hundred? How about you, fair drow lady? Care to place a bid on this lovely illithid? Ooo, that rhymes! Hee, hee, hee!" Tree Branch jumped and clapped her hands. The illithid beside her curtsied gracefully. Nathyrra pulled out a chunk of her hair. "Oww!" she yelped and squinted her eyes closed in pain, but when she opened them again, the scene in front of her was just as ridiculous as before. "I don't believe this," she muttered to herself.

"I know what ya mean, lassie," said the ugly duergar who had bid fifty gold. "A mind flayer like that is worth at least one twenty-five! I would've thought the bidding would be much higher by now."

"What, exactly, are you bidding on her for?" Nathyrra asked, determined to try to make some sense out of all of this. "What use would an illithid be as a slave?"

"A slave? Ha ha, you're a strange lass, ya are!" the duergar laughed. "This here's a date auction. We're bidding on the chance to spend the evening with one of these charming creatures!"

Nathyrra felt her jaw drop open as Tree Branch yelled to the crowd, "Come now, my friends, you're not going to let this beauty slip through your fingers, are you? One hundred gold and she's yours for the night! You could go dancing down at the Elder Brain's, or you could even catch a fight down at the pits! Love is in the air, ladies and gentlemen! Which of you will be bold enough to seize the day?"

"Oh, sod it, you only live once, right?" said the duergar as he raised his hand. "One hundred for me, ya hideous gnome!"

Tree Branch smiled as though this were the greatest compliment in the world. "The repulsive duergar bids again! One hundred gold! Anyone willing to top that?" When it became clear that no one was, Tree Branch proclaimed the auction over, and the duergar walked off arm-in-arm with his illithid prize.

Seizing her moment, Nathyrra rushed up to the druid's side. "Tree Branch, I'm so glad I found you! What on earth are you doing here?"

"Tree branch? What tree branch? I don't see any tree branch," said the gnome. "Are you feeling all right in the head, my lady?"

"Yes, Tree Branch, I'm fine. I'm just calling you by your name."

The druid's face twitched in a manner similar to the way the avariel in Shaori's Fell would twitch when faced with something that conjured up memories of their actual identities. The spasm quickly passed and was replaced by a horrified frown. "That's not my name!" Tree Branch spat in disgust. "What a stupid name that would be! Something only a crazy tree-hugger would think up, I'm sure. No way in all the hells that's my name!"

Nathyrra sighed. This was not starting off well, and she was quite certain it would only get worse. "Well, what is your name, then?" she asked as she crossed her arms.

"My name? Oh, of course, my name…" The gnome scratched her head and furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. "Huh. That's funny. I can't seem to remember it."

"Wonderful. I'm just going to call you Tree Branch, then, if that's alright with you."

"No, it is most certainly _not_ alright with me, you unfairly beautiful drow woman! Stupid, stupid name," the druid muttered to herself. "The dumbest name in all the realms." Nathyrra looked ready to speak again, so the nameless gnome held up her tiny hand. "Stop! If I have no name, I'm not going to let some stranger name me, no matter how pretty she is! No, I'll… I'll name myself! Yes!" Her smile returned as quickly as it had fled, and she clapped her hands in glee. "I will christen myself, and my name will be such that it strikes fear and awe into the hearts of all who hear it!"

Silence fell. Nathyrra tapped her foot impatiently. "And that name would be…?"

"Aha!" cried the gnome. "I have it! The perfect name! The best name in all the realms! From this day forth, I shall be called She Who Summons Lightning With Her Brain! MWUAHAHAHAHA!"

Nathyrra blinked. "Are you being serious right now?" she asked incredulously. "I honestly can't tell. You were never even remotely playful before, so this is all quite new to me…"

"I'm being perfectly serious," She Who Summons Lightning With Her Brain replied. "I call myself this because I can, in fact, summon lightning with my brain. Watch!" The druid squinted her eyes tightly closed and raised her arms to the heavens.

Nathyrra looked up, but she did not even see any clouds, let alone lightning bolts. "Are you doing it right now?" she asked suspiciously.

"Of course, I am, you idiot! Guess they didn't give out exceptional brains to match that exceptional hair of yours, did they?"

Nathyrra's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch yourself, gnome. We may have travelled together, but we weren't that close."

"I don't mean to intrude," thought a nearby mind flayer readying itself for auction, "but the strange little gnome _is_ actually calling lightning down from the heavens. It just happens to be stopping on the surface of the earth, as lightning is prone to do."

Nathyrra looked at the illithid curiously. "How is it that you know this?"

"Well, my lady, being as sensitive to thought as we are, we illithid can sense thoughts tied to strong emotions from thousands of miles away. In this instance, I hear the thoughts of a male half-orc somewhere above us, crying out in pain from being struck repeatedly by the electric bolts. I can also hear the thoughts of a female dwarf near him, laughing her head off. It is quite amusing." Both the illithid and the gnome smiled, and Nathyrra was quite certain both faces would be haunting her dreams for weeks to come. "You see, drow, I was right!" the druid said triumphantly.

"Fine, you were right. And my name is Nathyrra, since you clearly don't remember. Do you happen to have a nickname I can call you by? She Who Something Lightning Blah Blah Blah is rather long."

"Hmm. You have a point," the gnome conceded. "I suppose… Lightning Brain will do. Yes, I think that will do nicely! Lightning Brain, la, la, la!" She began to sing to herself and twirl in a circle.

Feeling herself getting dizzy, Nathyrra grabbed the gnome's shoulder to stop her spinning. "That's enough, Lightning Brain!" she shouted, speaking fast. "Look, I know this might sound crazy—or it might not to you in the state of mind you're in—but I'm looking for a bunch of glass shards that came from a mirror that is now broken, and I have a feeling you might have one."

The druid formerly known as Tree Branch tilted her head to the side. "I might have one," she said slowly. "Yes, indeed, I might. Tell me, Nathyrra, if I did have a mirror shard—and I'm not saying I do—how much would such a trinket be worth to you, hmm?"

The drow's face fell as she realized she didn't have much to offer. Having already used her expensive ring to bribe the illithid guard back when Zorvak'Mur was less accommodating, she was out of valuable accessories, and in spite of the cheer and goodwill surrounding her there was no way she was about to part with any of her magical weapons or armor. She had fallen into the habit of letting Grovel keep any treasure she happened to find—the little goblin did enjoy shining gems—and consequently she had none of her own. All she had in her pocket was a single gold piece, and she held this out to Lightning Brain with a shaky smile. "How does one gold sound?"

"Hah," said Lightning Brain. "Now, I know I can get better than that!" She turned to face her audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, before we present our next illithid dreamboat for your perusal, we have a special surprise auction. I present to you… this!" she cried, holding the mirror shard aloft.

"A piece of glass?" asked a human woman. "Why would we want that?"

"Is it magical or something?" asked the male elf who had lost out on the mind flayer with the bow around her tentacle.

"I… don't know." Lightning Brain turned to Nathyrra and whispered, "Is it magic?"

"No," Nathyrra lied smoothly. "It's just an ordinary piece of glass."

Lightning Brain turned the shard around in her hand. "Well, why do you want it so badly then?"

"I'm a collector of reflective surfaces. I like cleaning them. Clean, clean, clean!" Nathyrra laughed, wondering what Grovel would think if he saw her now.

Lightning Brain shook her head in pity. "You're lucky you're so pretty, drow," she said and turned back to the crowd. "I'll tell you why you want this!" she cried desperately. "You want it because _she _wants it!" She pointed a finger at Nathyrra, who gamely waved at the audience. "Now, who'll give me twenty-five? Twenty-five gold for this shiny hunk of glass!"

Sadly, Lightning Brain's valiant attempts to create a market for the seemingly worthless artifact were in vain. No one in the audience was willing to pay twenty-five gold for it, nor twenty, nor fifteen, nor ten, not even five. Exhausted by her efforts to excite the crowd, the gnome hung her head and took a deep breath. "Fine, drow, it's yours," she said, not bothering to look at her customer as she held the prize out. "For one measly little gold piece…"

"Thank you, Lightning Brain," Nathyrra said graciously as she completed the transaction by handing over her gold. The gnome grunted and shuffled off dejectedly, all of her positive energy seemingly spent. The drow felt a little guilty watching her former companion wander off. As topsy-turvy as everything was down here, it had been nice to see a familiar face amid all the chaos, even if she was acting nothing like her normal self.

"Wait a moment!" she called out to the retreating druid. Lightning Brain slowly turned around. "This mirror shard isn't worth much on its own, but I'm searching for three more. Together they truly are magical… and quite valuable." The gnome's eyebrows shot up at the prospect of earning some gold. "If you help me find them," Nathyrra continued, "I'll split the profits with you fifty-fifty."

Lightning Brain's face instantly lit up in another smile that made Nathyrra shudder. "That sounds like the best idea I've ever heard!" the druid said happily. "The best idea in all the realms! You've got yourself a deal, partner!" She rushed up and gave Nathyrra a very un-Tree Branch-like hug. "We're going to have so much fun together!"

Nathyrra looked up at the cavernous sky and sighed. "We'll see, little gnome. We'll see…"


	8. Ch 7: The Legend Acts like a Hero

_Author's Note: I thought I was cutting this whole Zorvak'Mur chapter in half, but apparently I only cut it into thirds... If it still feels unfinished, don't worry, there'll be more to come soon! -Bondari_

* * *

**Chapter 7—The Legend Acts Like a Hero, Temporarily**

"A goblin? Seriously? How have you survived so long in the Underdark, drow, if you honestly think your entire movement can be saved by a goblin?"

"Says the woman who approved wholeheartedly at the time the idea was suggested. I believe the exact word you used was 'fascinating.'"

"Huh. Clearly I've gotten smarter since our separation. Pity you haven't."

Nathyrra inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. As they searched for their other companions or any trace of them and the mirror shards, she had been telling a highly skeptical Lightning Brain about the gnome's former life as Tree Branch the druid and her role as guardian and protector of poor little Grovel the goblin. She had thought the tale might trigger some memories buried in that thick skull of hers, or at the very least she hoped it would make Lightning Brain a more pleasant partner. She was wrong on both counts.

"And I'm really friends with a kobold? A singing kobold? Does he lay golden eggs in his spare time?"

"No, Lightning Brain, Deekin does not lay eggs, golden or otherwise. And he's not exactly your friend. More of a servant, or chronicler would be the best word, I suppose."

"Ah, well, that makes more sense, then!" Lightning Brain smiled. "If I have a servant, I must be doing pretty well for myself, yes indeed. What about you, Nathyrra? Do you have a servant of your own?"

Nathyrra smirked. "As a matter of fact, I have a tiefling," she lied. _It's not like he'll ever know..._ "He's quite strong and a good warrior, but he can be very broody sometimes. Most of the time, really."

"Ooo, I like a broody man," the gnome giggled. "What's he like to look at?"

Nathyrra's smirk grew more mischievous at Lightning Brain's newfound amorous interests. "Not unappealing," she said in as neutral a voice as she could manage.

Lightning Brain sighed in pleasure at whatever demented mental image she had conjured. "Not unappealing, huh? Sounds delightful. I hope we find him next!"

The drow laughed. "Well, if he's going to be anywhere in this strange town, I can only assume he'd be at the pits."

Ah, the pits. Where illithid and slavers wagered any gold they didn't spend buying slaves on forcing their slaves to fight each other to the death. At least, that's what it used to be. Since the abolition of slavery in Zorvak'Mur, Nathyrra had no idea what the pits had become, but Lightning Brain assured her there was still fighting going on. She hoped Valen had managed to find his way there because brain-addled as he probably was, he was still strong enough to hold his own in a brawl. If Deekin or Grovel had wandered in, though… Nathyrra quickened her step, hoping she wasn't going to be pulling a mirror shard from a corpse's hand.

Lightning Brain led the way through the throngs of people to the illithid in charge. "Hey, Bob! Good to see you again, matey."

The mind flayer, who Nathyrra was quite sure was not named Bob back in reality, smiled at the gnome's approach. "Ah, it's the little gnome matchmaker! I just watched that hideous duergar walk by with a particularly stunning member of my species, and I could not believe how happy they were together. You truly know much of the art of love, my lady. Why do you insist on wasting your money betting on the art of war?"

Lightning Brain slapped the illithid playfully on the back. "Maybe I just like hanging around you, Bob, ever think of that?" She winked at him, and Nathyrra placed a hand over her mouth and turned away so the gnome wouldn't see her giggle. Looking down into the pit, she saw a drider squaring off against a small figure in a long black cloak and a comically large red hat with an even larger white feather sticking out of it. She listened as Lightning Brain explained the real purpose for their visit. "Actually, we're looking for a couple of friends of the drow beauty standing over by the railing. Now, don't go falling in love with her, Bob, she's about as loony as they come, I'm afraid. I'm not sure these friends of hers even exist, but I felt I had to make an effort to help the poor thing, you know?"

Nathyrra turned back to face them, fixing Lightning Brain with a hard glare. The gnome, noticing, laughed nervously. "She does have some stunning violet eyes, though, am I right, Bob? Heh, heh… anyway, we were wondering if you'd seen any new faces in the arena. Particularly if those faces are attached to the bodies of a tiefling, a kobold, or a goblin."

A loud cheer erupted from the audience. It seemed the feathered figure had defeated the drider and was taking its bows before the crowd. Nathyrra's gaze suddenly focused on the mysterious creature's sword. _Am I imagining things, or is it actually glowing red…?_

"No tieflings or kobolds here, I'm afraid," said Bob, "but we have recently been graced with the presence of a most intriguing little goblin…"

The figure in the pit turned to face them, and Nathyrra gasped and clutched at the railing for support. "Grovel?" she choked out in disbelief.

"Are you alright there, Nathyrra?" asked Lightning Brain, walking over to her.

Nathyrra pointed helplessly at the goblin in the pit. "That's Grovel, Tree Branch," she muttered, earning a frown from the druid now known as She Who Summons Lightning With Her Brain. "I can hardly believe it, but that's really Grovel!"

Lightning Brain rolled her eyes. "Hey, Bob," she called to the mind flayer. "Any chance of you setting up a meet-and-greet for us with the little stud down there? I think my friend here wants to chat him up."

Bob bowed gracefully. "Of course, my dear. I would be only too happy to assist one of my highest-paying clients."

As the illithid walked away, Lightning Brain tried in vain to pull Nathyrra back from the edge. "Careful, girlie. Don't want you falling in there and getting your pretty head bashed in before we make all that gold from that magic mirror of yours."

Nathyrra reluctantly moved away from the railing. "The poor thing!" she cried. "He could have died down there!"

"Yes, he could have," Lightning Brain agreed, "but he wouldn't have stayed that way for long. It's Zorvak'Mur Pit policy to raise all defeated challengers from the dead after the fight has concluded. To do otherwise would be inhumane, apparently. Me, I think if you're weak enough to die, you should stay dead, but the tentacle heads make all the decisions around here, and I'm sorely lacking in the appendage department. Hey, look, here comes your friend now."

Nathyrra was a bit dazed, both from the shocking discovery of Grovel and Lightning Brain's constant yammering, but the sight before her snapped her brain back into focus. There stood Grovel, Enserric in hand, gigantic hat cocked at a jaunty angle, cloak billowing behind him in a suddenly rising wind. He smiled at her with a confidence and swagger that looked completely out of place on his tiny goblin face. "Good morrow, dear ladies, good morrow, good morrow," he said as he whipped his hat off in a flourish and swept it before him in a theatrical bow. "Sir Grovel doth hear he hath some new fans, yea, yea, yea. Doth thou be them, fair ladies? Yea? Nay? Maybe?"

Both Nathyrra and Lightning Brain were stunned into silence. Thankfully, Bob was there to clarify. "Yes, Sir Grovel, these are the ladies who asked to meet you. May I present to you both Sir Grovel the Great, warrior of the pits of Zorvak'Mur." Grovel bowed again, and the women curtsied awkwardly.

"Well, we're very pleased to meet you, Sir Grovel, aren't we, Nathyrra?" Lightning Brain elbowed the drow and whispered, "Come on, drow, he's your friend! Act a little happier to see him, why don't you?"

"Why, yes!" Nathyrra mustered through her surprise. "It is very, _very_ good to see you, umm, _Sir_ Grovel." That "sir" part was going to take some getting used to.

"Nathyrra?" came an arrogant, whiny voice. "By the gods, is that really you?"

"Enserric!" Nathyrra cried, shocked but happy. "You remember me?"

"Of course I remember you, you fool," snapped the sword. "With a brain as large and intelligent as mine, you don't simply forget people you've only recently met."

"Hey, is that sword actually talking?" asked Lightning Brain, peering at it closely and likely estimating its worth at the marketplace.

"Yea, yea, yea, sword doth speak, doth speak quite a lot. Too often for Sir Grovel's taste, yea, too often. But thou fine ladies wished to speak with Sir Grovel, yea? Nay? Maybe?"

"Oh we do, Sir Grovel, I assure you we do," said Nathyrra quickly. "I was wondering, however, if you might permit me to speak to your sword, just for a moment?" She gave the goblin her most winning smile.

Sir Grovel beamed adoringly back at her. "For a lady as lovely as thou art, Sir Grovel would do most anything, yea, yea, Sir Grovel would!" With a surprisingly deft flip of his hand, Sir Grovel presented Enserric to Nathyrra hilt first.

"Thank you, good sir," said Nathyrra, and she took Enserric and walked back to the railing, not to watch the fight but to get away from the others. "Alright, Enserric," she snapped. "Tell me what in the nine hells is going on here!"

"I would have assumed you had figured it out by now, but that's what I get for assuming that you possess the same keen deductive skills that I do," Enserric drawled, oblivious to Nathyrra's glare. "After you cast that magic missile spell of yours, the Elder Brain dropped the goblin, and the goblin dropped the Mirror of All-Seeing, shattering it into many pieces and distorting the whole town as a result."

Nathyrra rolled her eyes. "Yes, sword, I did figure that part out. What I want to know is why you and I weren't affected."

"Well, presumably the mirror only affects the minds of living creatures. As a sentient sword, I am, technically speaking, no longer alive even though I retain my mental faculties. You, my dear, were likely spared due to that magical helm of yours. The mental magic worked by the mirror is no doubt similar enough to the illithid mind powers that the helmet was able to deflect them."

Nathyrra once again said a prayer of thanks to Eilistraee for leading Grovel to the Helm of Shielding. "I'm glad I'm not the only one down here who remembers the world as it truly is. Have you seen Valen or Deekin around? They probably have the remaining mirror shards, and we need to get them back if we're to repair the mirror and get things back to the way they were."

"Now why would we want to do that, hmm?" asked Enserric. "The illithid are in such a state of blissful harmony that I'm sure they will have no motivation or will to attack your rebel encampment. That was the point of this whole excursion, wasn't it? To eliminate the illithid threat?"

"Well, yes," Nathyrra replied hesitantly, "but this spell only affects the illithid in Zorvak'Mur. Our true aim was to isolate the Valsharess from _all _of her illithid allies."

"So your mission is a little incomplete. A partial success is better than complete failure. Besides, I much prefer the goblin with his new personality, and I'm sure you will, too. He might actually be capable of being the heroic savior your people so desperately need."

Nathyrra looked over her shoulder at Lightning Brain giving Grovel the once over as though she were prepping him for one of her date auctions. She couldn't deny that the new Grovel was more sure of himself and certainly more fashionable. The jury was still out on Tree Branch/Lightning Brain, but she was at least a more approachable gnome than before. Nathyrra was uneasy, however, about leaving any of her companions in this mentally altered state. Who could say what the long term effects would be? "You make an interesting argument, Enserric, but I would still prefer if we had all the mirror shards in our possession before we made a decision."

"A not entirely unreasonable proposition, Nathyrra!" said Enserric with pride. "I always knew you had the most potential out of this group. Let's go back to the others, then, and see about getting the goblin's shard back."

Nathyrra frowned. "He lost it?"

"Of course he did, my dear. Confidence does not always equal competence." Apparently deciding that those words of wisdom were the perfect note to end the conversation with, Enserric refused to answer Nathyrra's pleas for more details, and so she returned to her companions.

"I absolutely love that hat you have, Sir Grovel. I do believe it's the best hat in all the realms! Do you know where I can find one of my own?"

"Nay, nay, nay, good lady gnome. Sir Grovel purchased that last article, yea, Sir Grovel did." Grovel smiled when he noticed Nathyrra approach. "Hark, the lovely drow lady doth return! Did thou glean what information thou needest from Sir Grovel's sword, did thou, yea? Nay?"

"Yea!" Nathyrra interrupted, handing Enserric back to the goblin. "He mentioned that you at one point were in possession of a broken shard from a mirror, but he said that you no longer have it."

"Tis true, tis true, my lady," said Grovel sadly. "What a beautiful piece of glass it was, yea, yea indeed. Very shiny, so very shiny, yea. Alas, Sir Grovel wagered it in a battle with the Umber Hulk Twins, and sadly he did lose."

"Smashie and Bashie?" asked Lightning Brain in amazement. "They're the toughest pair in Zorvak'Mur! I can't believe you took them on! You must be the bravest creature in all the realms! Or, at least, the bravest goblin."

"Thou art too kind, good lady gnome, too kind, too kind," said Grovel, blushing slightly. "Wherefore dost thou need the shard, kind ladies, wherefore, wherefore?"

"We're trying to put the mirror back together, Sir Grovel," said Nathyrra. "If there is anything you can do to help us get that shard back, we would be happy to compensate—"

Grovel held up a hand to silence her. "Say no more, my dear kind lady, nay, nay, nay. Sir Grovel will win back the shard for his lady and by so doing win her fair heart! Yea, yea, yea, Sir Grovel will!" Nathyrra felt her cheeks grow hot as the goblin turned to the illithid behind him. "Good Sir Bob, thou must arrange a bout between Sir Grovel and the Umber Hulk Twins, and the prize must be the shard of glass, yea, yea, it must!"

"Very well, Sir Grovel," Bob replied. "And what will you wager?"

"We have one hundred gold," said Nathyrra. "Right, Lightning Brain?" she asked as the gnome gave her a shocked glare.

"It won't be necessary for you to wager so large an amount for a fight such as this, ladies. One gold will suffice."

"Huzzah!" cried Grovel. "The stage is set, yea, yea it is. Sir Grovel will win the day for his fair lady! Yea? Nay? Maybe?"

"I think yea, Sir Grovel," said Nathyrra with a smile that belied her inward apprehension.

Grovel beamed back at her, bent down on one quivering knee, and kissed her hand. Nathyrra was surprised to hear herself giggling and quickly put her hand over her mouth, but not before Lightning Brain got a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Sir Grovel will return victorious, yea, yea, yea!" cried the goblin, and he followed Bob the mind flayer to the path to the pits.

Nathyrra walked back to the railing, and she was not pleased to feel Lightning Brain sidle up next to her. "Must you stand so close to me, gnome?" she snapped, keeping her eyes fixed firmly ahead of her.

Lightning Brain chortled at her thighs. "Oh, Nathyrra, there's no need to be so grumpy. Not when there's such a sweet scent in the air. Can you smell it?" She sniffed dramatically and smiled. "It's the smell of romance!"

"No, it is not," Nathyrra grumbled as she watched Grovel appear below her, Enserric in hand. He saw her in the crowd and blew her a kiss. The crowd began cheering, and Nathyrra fervently wished there were some shadows she could disappear into. Alas, the pits were as brightly lit as the surface on a bright, sunny day, and there was nowhere for the embarrassed drow to hide.

"Oh, this is just too much!" Lightning Brain cried happily, and she began hopping from foot to foot in a little dance. "Nathyrra and the goblin, sitting in a tree," she sang, "k-i-s-s-i-n-AHHHH!"

The scream followed the gnome as she plunged down the wall into the pit. Nathyrra looked around her in mock surprise. "Lighting Brain? Where did you go, Lightning Brain? I was so enjoying that song, too!"

"I'll get you for that, you blasted drow!" the gnome yelled from below.

Nathyrra looked up at the sky. "I hear you, Lightning Brain, but I can't see you! Are you flying?"

"I'm down here, damn you to the hells!" Lightning Brain shrieked, and she let forth a prolific litany of curses in Common, drow, and gnomish that would likely have gone on until she collapsed from lack of oxygen if Grovel hadn't poked her in the rear end with his sword. She turned on him with a look of barely contained fury, and Enserric whined, "What have I told you, goblin, about my feelings about stabbing the buttocks? I DON'T LIKE IT!"

"Heh, heh, heh," Grovel chuckled. "Good gnome lady doth look quite amusing when she be angry, yea, yea, yea. Anger will be useful when fighting the umber hulks, useful, very useful!" He took her arm and marched with her to the center of the arena. "Sir Grovel be ready, yea, yea indeed! And Sir Grovel hath a partner now!" He raised Lightning Brain's arm high, and she looked at him in surprise.

Nathyrra heard the spectators around her grumbling about this change. Now that the fight was two-on-two, many mind flayers frantically tried to change their bets, but Bob declared that all wagers were final. Suddenly, the ground began to shake, and two gigantic umber hulks lumbered into the pit. Smashie and Bashie had arrived.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Bob projected his thoughts throughout the arena. "We have quite a treat for you today! Sir Grovel the Great and the Gnome Matchmaker challenge the Umber Hulk Twins to a contest of blows over a jagged shard of glass! The stakes could not be lower! Our combatants have taken their places, so let us… BEGIN!"

The umber hulks advanced on the tiny gnome and the tinier goblin. Grovel raised his sword to charge, but Lightning Brain took his hand calmly. "There's no need for that, goblin," she said with a confident roll of her eyes. She stepped forward until she was directly between Grovel and the umber hulks. Nathyrra gripped the rails as she leaned over to watch the action. "Hold onto your pants, you moronic tunnel diggers!" the gnome yelled. "Prepare to face the wrath of She Who Summons Lightning With Her Brain! MWUAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The crowd went still as Lightning Brain squeezed her eyes shut and raised her arms skyward. The umber hulks halted and watched her curiously. Nathyrra slammed her head into the rail with a moan of frustration. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, furious that their best chance of getting the mirror shard was about to be squandered by a druid who didn't understand the basic properties of electricity.

Just as she was contemplating leaping into the pit herself and ending this battle before her companions were smashed and bashed by their foes, a raucous cheer pierced her brain as the assembled mind flayers mentally voiced their excitement. Slowly raising her head, she found that her eyes were unable to make sense of the scene before her. There was Lightning Brain, still futilely trying to smite her foes. There was Smashie the umber hulk, watching her with his head tilted sideways. But Bashie was lying face down on the ground, and on his back stood a goblin with a feather in his hat. Reaching down with both arms, he pulled with all his might and yanked his sword free of where it had been lodged in the umber hulk's back.

"Yea, yea, yea! Sir Grovel saves the day!" he screamed happily as he held Enserric high. His cries drew Smashie's attention away from the oblivious gnome, but before the umber hulk could process what had happened to his twin brother, Grovel drew back his arm and threw Enserric directly into Smashie's eye. The umber hulk wailed in pain, finally calling Lightning Brain back to reality. Seeing her enemy in such distress, the gnome quickly pulled out her club and leapt at the beast, pounding the sorry creature into oblivion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bob's voice proclaimed, "the fight is over! And the winner is… Sir Grovel the Great! And friend!"

"Huzzah!" cried Grovel as he swept into a low bow.

"Hey, I have a name, too, tentacle head!" screamed Lightning Brain as she climbed down from Smashie's corpse.

"How…?" Nathyrra whispered weakly, and she fell to the ground in a faint.

* * *

"My lady love be not full of cheer, nay, nay, nay. Wherefore art thou upset, Sir Grovel wonders, yea, yea he does?"

Nathyrra looked over at Grovel from the post against which she had been leaning. They were back in the marketplace, shopping for weapons. The fight in the pits had kindled in Lightning Brain a powerful bloodlust, and she insisted on buying herself something better than the simple wooden club she carried. Her haggling and attempted flirting with the various merchants had grown quite tiresome to listen to, so Nathyrra had joined Grovel at the accessory stall. He was currently trying on a pair of gaudy boots that were at least three sizes too big for him. She smiled briefly, but her scowl soon returned. "I'm sorry, Sir Grovel," she said. "I don't mean to be so glum."

Grovel attempted to take a step toward her and fell flat on his face. As he pushed himself up, he looked at her with a surprising amount of concern. "Sir Grovel not understands, my lady, nay, nay, nay. Sir Grovel won the mirror shard for my lady, yea, yea he did. Be that not what my lady wanted? Yea? Nay? Maybe?"

Nathyrra poked the ground angrily with her toe. "Yea, that is what I wanted, Sir Grovel. I'm not upset with you, I promise. I'm just… frustrated with how I handled myself at the pits…"

She had fainted. Never in her long, frightening, perilous life had Nathyrra of House Kant'tar ever fainted, and the fact that she had passed out because of a goblin in a feathered hat only added to the immense shame that coursed through her veins. If the Red Sisters, or even her real sisters, could return from their graves to see her now…

"My lady needs not be so sad, nay, nay, nay." Grovel took her hand and stroked it sweetly. "Sir Grovel used to faint all the time, but he doth not faint any longer, nay, nay, nay. Sir Grovel be… a different goblin now from what he used to be, yea, yea, different."

Nathyrra looked at him curiously. "Do you remember anything else about the goblin you used to be, Sir Grovel?"

Grovel's eye began twitching uncomfortably. "Sir Grovel remembers a dungeon, a big, scary dungeon, yea, yea, yea, and he remembers he doth own a strange rock… Oww!" he suddenly screamed, and Nathyrra felt his claws digging into her hand. "Sir Grovel hath a headache all of a sudden, ouchie, ouchie, yea. Sir Grovel doth not want to discuss his past anymore, nay, nay, nay. Sir Grovel be so saddened to disappoint his lady love, so saddened, so saddened."

Nathyrra turned away so he wouldn't see her rolling her eyes. She knew he meant well, but honestly, how was she supposed to respond to declarations of love from a goblin? "It's fine, Sir Grovel," she muttered. "I just wish we were gone from this place."

"Sir Grovel understands, yea, yea he does. Fret not, my lady! Together we will find thy lost friends and thy lost mirror, and we will leave this place behind us. Sir Grovel be sure of it. My lady be too brave and too kind and too strong not to succeed, yea, yea, yea. Wherever she doth tread, my lady will make everything right, everything, everything right!"

Nathyrra looked with surprise at his tiny, yellow eyes, now brimming with pure and utter devotion. He smiled his toothy smile at her, and she was startled to find herself returning his smile with one of her own. "Thank you, Sir Grovel," she said softly, and once more he bowed and kissed her hand.

"It warms the cockles of Sir Grovel's heart to see my lady smile so! Now Sir Grovel must see about getting these boots sized, yea, yea, yea. They are simply too big, too, too, big."

As the goblin stumbled away, Nathyrra studied her hand as though it were a foreign object. It had tingled when he had kissed it. Tingled with pleasure... _Oh, Eilistraee, help me…_ she silently prayed. Maybe Enserric had been wrong about the Helm of Shielding protecting her from the mirror's effects. That could be the only explanation for the strange feelings she was feeling, of that she was certain. Only, was she really certain about anything in this place?

She was distracted from her reverie by the sound of singing. For the briefest of moments she thought of Deekin, but the voice was not his. Lightning Brain slowly appeared around the corner of the stall. She appeared to be dragging something rather heavy behind her. "Good news, mirror hunters!" she cried happily. "Lightning Brain's got herself a brand new flail!"

With a final yank, the gnome brought both herself and her weapon into full view. Nathyrra lost all interest in her tingling hand and gasped. "Devil's Bane!"

Lighting Brain gave her that look that said she thought she was a bit touched in the head. "No, no, Nathyrra. It's Lightning Brain. Repeat after me: Light-ning Brain."

Nathyrra glared at the patronizing druid. "Not you, the flail. Its name is Devil's Bane, and it belongs to Valen, the tiefling I told you about."

"Oh, yeah, your hunky servant!" Lighting Brain brightened. "So this little beauty belongs to him, eh? Think he'd be happy to see it returned?" she asked with a sly smile.

"Sir Grovel thinks the good lady gnome will have a difficult time returning the weapon if she cannot lift it, yea, yea, yea."

"Well, no one asked you, did they, Sir Goblin?" Lightning Brain snapped. "What are you going to do with those boats on your feet, anyway, hmm?"

Grovel stuck his tongue out at the gnome, who was only too happy to return the favor. Nathyrra ran an exasperated hand through her hair. "Alright you two, that's enough. This flail is our best chance at finding Valen, and I'm hoping he has one of the mirror shards with him. Lightning Brain, do you think the merchant you bought it from could tell you who sold it to him?"

"I'm sure he could," Lighting Brain replied. "Those mind flayers don't forget much with those giant brains of theirs. Follow me!" She turned around and set off boldly back to the stall where she bought the flail. Or rather, she attempted to set off boldly, but it was really more of a labored shuffle as she dragged Devil's Bane along behind her. Nathyrra and Grovel followed, walking at a much slower pace than Nathyrra would have liked. Grovel kept smiling at her, which was only unnerving her more for reasons she couldn't and didn't want to explain. She could only pray that the merchant would be able to tell them where Valen was staying in Zorvak'Mur and that the tiefling would still be there when they got there.

Suddenly Lightning Brain collapsed to the ground. Nathyrra quickly looked around for attackers, but she realized that the gnome's fall had been caused by the head of her new flail getting caught on a rock. As the angry druid began trying to extricate her weapon from the inconvenient impediment, Nathyrra was forced to amend her prayer. _Please, Eilistraee, let us make it back to the merchant before the hells freeze over…_


End file.
